


Yvain

by Lady Angel (dameange)



Series: Yvain [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Kid Fic, M/M, Magic Revealed, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-28
Updated: 2013-08-28
Packaged: 2017-12-24 22:26:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/945370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dameange/pseuds/Lady%20Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the celebrations for his grandson’s sixth birthday, Uther Pendragon was stabbed by his grandson for murdering his papa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yvain

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Temporary character death, Mentions the physical torture of a child. But, ultimately, I’m a happy ending girl so read on with no fear.
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> My Thanks to: A tremendous thank you to Carmen, Rebecca, and Nono for their support, their encouragement, and their wisdom. They’ve caught my mistakes and helped make this story so much better than it was. Thank you, kind ladies. 
> 
> Thank you to Lili, who made me amazing artwork for my story, bringing it to life. You are so awesome, darling! Thank you!
> 
> Please go see the amazing family tree and two pieces of cover art Lili made for this story. [Artwork link!](http://lili-flygirl.livejournal.com/7551.html)
> 
> ~*~*~*~*~*~
> 
> Two quick notes: at this time in the story, no one except Uther knows that Morgana is his illegitimate daughter. Also, Yvain is, in my mind, pronounced \i-`vain\\. This is probably wrong, but I wanted a name Arthur would choose to honor his mother. Therefore, his son’s name is pronounced with a long E sound just like his mother’s.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Part I

~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 1

During the celebrations for his grandson’s sixth birthday, Uther Pendragon was stabbed by his grandson for murdering his papa.

The day of his grandson’s birth was even more celebrated in Camelot than Uther’s own. The people celebrated the continuation of the Pendragons’ strong and mighty rule, while Uther used it to showcase the glory of Camelot. Troubadours, minstrels, and troupes of acrobats flocked to the city, hoping to find patronage of any kind, but most importantly, from the royal family. Uther smiled as his grandson clapped and laughed at one of those traveling troupe’s acrobatic antics.

Yvain’s face was alight with wonder and amazement as the troupe entertained the court with feats of contortionism and juggling. Arthur carefully held his son in his lap, keeping the boy from wriggling right off in his excitement, their blond heads close together as Yvain exclaimed over each new feat. It was clear Arthur was much more interested in his son’s reactions to the performers than in the performers themselves, taking delight in Yvain’s delight.

Uther felt a moment of regret that Ygraine could not be here to see their grandson – so like their son at that age – both with her golden blonde hair and her bright blue eyes. There was very little of his mother in Yvain, except perhaps, for his more delicate nose. The woman, who had tricked Arthur into marriage, had borne the Pendragon heir, but had never been a mother to the boy. She had been last seen riding away from the castle with one of her father’s guards and had not been heard from since. People whispered about a curse on the Pendragon men, unable to keep their wives and mothers, but Arthur seemed relieved when she had left. He had immediately petitioned to have a divorce decreed in light of her abandonment. 

Uther had fully supported it, for various reasons of his own. After all, with that woman gone, he could cement alliances with more powerful men with the promise of a royal marriage to Arthur. Nevertheless, even without a mother, Yvain had grown into a fine child who laughed, played, excelled and charmed all those he met. Uther could not be more proud of his grandson and son.

Uther raised his hands to clap for the performers when screams rent the air, glass cracked and shattered, a million deadly shards speeding their way towards him and his family. He dove towards Arthur and Yvain.

“No!”

Then all was still.

Cautiously he lifted his head, stared in confusion at the glass shards hanging in the air, torchlight reflecting off of them in a beautifully macabre show of brilliant rainbows. Between the high table and the deadly slivers, stood Merlin, hand outstretched.

One of the troupe screamed in fury, fire flying from his fingertips, arcing its way towards them.

Merlin caught it, sending the flames back towards their source, engulfing the sorcerer in an inferno, leaving nothing but gray ashes. The other members of the troupe backed away from the pile of cinders, cowering when Merlin’s eyes swept over them. His other hand eliminated the threat of the glass weapons as it waved the shards back into their proper places, windows restored without a blemish.

In that moment, Uther knew what the servant truly was and what he had to do to protect his family.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathed, almost as if he was warning the sorcerer.

Uther was moving before he even thought it through, grabbing the servant’s shoulder and shoving his dagger deep into the sorcerer’s heart.

“No!” 

More than one voice, more than one set of hands pushed him away from the sorcerer.

Arthur caught the sorcerer before his body could even touch the ground, cradling him in his arms. His face was filled with horror and the beginnings of sadness and grief as he held the sorcerer, gently pressing his lips against Merlin’s, whispering something against them.

“Papa!” Yvain screamed as he struggled against Morgana’s hold, freeing himself with a kick. He raced towards Arthur and the sorcerer, taking up one of the sorcerer’s hands, tears streaming down his cheeks as he stared at them both. “Father, will he be all right? Gaius! Gaius! ”

“Shhhh, sweetheart.” The sorcerer touched Yvain’s cheek, tracing it slowly, then turned those treacherous golden eyes towards Arthur. “I love you both. Take care of each other.”

Gaius reached them, moving to the side Yvain had abandoned when he ran to his father, one small hand clutching Arthur, the other clutching at the sorcerer. The royal physician bent over the sorcerer, examining him, but Merlin stayed his hands, pulling him down. 

“Thank you, Uncle,” the sorcerer murmured to the old man before his body fell limp into Arthur’s arms. 

Gaius lifted his head, shook it, sorrow writ on his face, tears in his eyes. 

Uther sneered at the emotion for a treacherous sorcerer. He looked around, dumbfounded as the old man’s sorrow was echoed in many of Arthur’s knights. He could understand the uncontrolled display of emotions from those commoners, Percival and Elyan, that Arthur insisted be knighted. But even Tristan, Arthur’s cousin and a nobleman from a long lineage of nobility and royalty, had grief in his eyes, a fist pressed hard against his mouth. Fury and hatred radiated from Morgana as she screamed at him from the circle of Sir Leon’s arms, he himself tight-lipped and eyes gleaming as they glared at him. Her handmaiden was sobbing into Sir Lancelot’s shoulder; he had his face pressed into her hair, hands clutching her just as tightly. Sir Gwaine was pressed against Percival’s broad shoulder, white faced, ever-present smile completely gone.

Yvain was shaking his head, grip still hard and clinging as he stared down at the body, chanting “no, no, no.”

Uther looked to Arthur, expecting his son to explain to Yvain why it had to be done. Instead, the boy disappointed him, merely kneeling there, clutching the sorcerer’s body, face buried in dark hair, body an arc of grief, bowed under the weight of it. Uther sneered at his son, resolving to speak to the boy later. Now, he would deal with his grandson.

“Yvain.” He reached out to grab his shoulder. “Stop that this ins --” He broke off with a gasp, staring incomprehensibly down at the dagger – the bejeweled dagger he had gift to Yvain only hours before – stabbed through his thigh. He looked up at his grandson in complete shock and bafflement.

Nothing but absolute loathing flared in those blue eyes. “I hate you,” Yvain spit out, face set in a sneer uncomfortably familiar. “I hate you.”

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Merlin hadn’t realized that when the king declared his reward was to become Arthur’s manservant, he would become the caretaker of two Pendragons. One, quite willingly; the other, not so much. The father was a complete prat, while the son was so ridiculously sweet and adorable that Merlin wondered if they were really father and son. Of course, the son was the spitting image of the father, so he never voiced the question.

He didn’t start off being the caretaker of both Arthur and Yvain Pendragon. Yvain had servants of his own, and so Merlin only had the barest contact with Yvain between all of Arthur and Gaius’ chores. But, when he saved Yvain from one of his servants’ abuse, Arthur had declared that Merlin was to become Yvain’s manservant as well. Merlin thought it was another “reward,” but when he saw the way that Arthur had swept Yvain’s other servants with a suspicious eye, he knew it was because Arthur trusted him over any of them.

From there the relationship between the three of them grew and changed. They became a family.

“Papa?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” Merlin leaned over as Yvain beckoned, smiling down at his son. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Geoffrey shifting, ready to answer any questions their young prince might have, but both men had found that Yvain liked it best when Merlin helped him first. They had also found that, with Merlin studying his own lessons from Gaius beside him, Yvain was more likely to engage in his lessons with Geoffrey and for longer periods of time than without Merlin there.

“Did I do this correctly?”

Merlin grinned, long fingers smoothing down Yvain’s soft hair, so much like his father’s in color and texture. More often than not, Merlin found himself swelling with love and adoration of Yvain at the most random of moments. Of course he felt it when Yvain smiled at him, hugged him, but it hit him when Yvain bit his lower lip as he concentrated, love filling his heart when Yvain laughed as he played with his pet. He felt it now as Yvain looked up at him inquisitively, asking for help on his studies. He read through the sums his son had been working on, running the backs of his fingers along Yvain’s cherub cheek. “All but one.”

Yvain frowned, glaring down at his parchment.

Merlin hid his smile; for Yvain was so very serious as he carefully studied his work. He went back to his own lessons, revising over what Gaius had taught him regarding the healing properties of the Asteraceae family.

With a noise of discovery and irritation – most likely at himself – Yvain found the wrong answer and corrected it.

“Now, Papa?”

Merlin grinned down at him. “Perfect.”

Yvain beamed up at him.

“Merlin.” Geoffrey pointed to the candlemark.

“Thank you, Geoffrey,” Merlin said, closing his book as he realized the time. “Time for practice with your father.”

Yvain made a happy noise deep in his throat as he handed Geoffrey his work and bid him a hasty goodbye. “Come, Cadfael!” he called, barely waiting for his canine companion before darting off towards the armory. The silver white Cú Faoil hound easily towered over Yvain and effortlessly kept up with him.

Merlin nodded to the old scholar, before letting his long legs eat up the distance between Yvain and himself. But the five year old was very quick and was impatiently waiting in the armory when he arrived. 

“Hurry, Papa!” Yvain admonished. Unlike his father, Yvain never said a mean word to anyone, merely nudging them to do what he wanted rather than berating. Merlin continuously wondered how Yvain had sprung from Arthur’s loins as he helped Yvain into his tiny training leathers. “Father is going to show me new techniques today!”

Yvain rushed towards the rack that held his wooden training weapons, selecting a sword, then dashed out to the training fields.

Merlin followed, grinning at his son’s excitement. He waved to Arthur and his knights before settling himself underneath a shady tree to watch, Cadfael stretching out beside him. He buried his hand in Cadfael’s shaggy fury, cheering on Yvain as was only appropriate for a proud papa like he, watching his lover teach their son.

When the sun began dipping below the horizon, Merlin waved to Arthur to let him know he was heading back to the castle. Arthur waved back, barely taking his eyes from where Leon was putting Yvain through his paces. Merlin whistled a little at he entered the castle and climbed up to Arthur’s chambers. He watched as Morris oversaw other servants pouring hot water into the large tub set aside for Arthur’s use.

“Merlin!” Morris greeted with a smile and nod, but instantly stepped back when he saw that Cadfael had followed Merlin inside. Unsurprising, because the enormous hound stood at least four feet tall and was covered in lean muscles that were built for speed and power; everyone, from king to peasant, kept a healthy distance between themselves and Cadfael. “We’re almost finished here and then we’ll start with Yvain’s.”

“Thank you.” Merlin returned his smile as he moved to Arthur’s wardrobe. When Arthur had added Yvain’s care to his workload, Merlin had loudly and vehemently “discussed” with Arthur the infeasibility of him doing all of his chores for Arthur, helping Gaius while learning under him, _and_ taking care of Yvain. Arthur, after a bit of glaring and arguing, had grudgingly given him Morris as an assistant. Merlin had worried at first that Morris would resent him, but Morris had seen it as a promotion from a mere castle servant to assistant to the princes’ manservant. An elevated position that did not require him to hide behind a target while Prince Arthur threw sharp objects at him. Morris took care of things like having bath water brought up to the princes, laundry, and Arthur’s horses and hounds, leaving Merlin with time to care for the princes in the more intimate capacities.

“You’re welcome, Merlin.” Morris added a little bow as he and the rest of the servants finished filling the tub with hot water. “I’ll be straight up with dinner soon.”

“Thank you, Morris.” Merlin smiled again at him but shifted uncomfortably at the man’s deference to him. Ever since he and Arthur had become lovers, ever since Yvain had started addressing him as “papa” all the other servants had treated him with respect not usually afforded to another servant. Even Gwen, who had a most esteemed position as Morgana’s longtime handmaiden, did not have this level of respect from the other servants. Actually, the only one who treated him like anyone else was Gwen. Unfortunately, he had tried everything to get the other servants to stop, but had miserably failed. 

Gaius had merely said, with a raised eyebrow, of course, “My boy, what do you expect? In their eyes, you are all but husband in name to the crowned prince of Camelot. Of course, they would want to remain in your good graces by treating you with respect.”

Merlin kept his hands busy as everyone filed out, Morris return a bit later but his hands were empty.

“Merlin, Prince Arthur says that he wants to dine in the smaller hall tonight. With his knights.”

He nodded and waved Morris away in dismissal, completely unsurprised by this change in venue. Arthur often broke bread with his knights, Morgana, and Gwen; Merlin and Yvain, by his side. It was a tradition Arthur had begun long before they became lovers, and helped build an unshakeable camaraderie among them all. It had helped especially when Yvain, the knights, and the ladies had learned of Merlin’s magic. 

“Merlin, did Morris tell you?” Arthur entered his chambers in a waft of male sweat, leather, and metal. He rubbed a hand through Cadfael’s silver white fur before sending the great beast into Yvain’s room. They both smiled as they heard Yvain’s laughing welcome of his pet.

“About dining in the small hall? Yes, he did.” Merlin helped him out of his armour and padding, noting what needed to be sent to the armoury for repairs. Laughed against Arthur’s lips as he was surprise-attacked with kisses and nuzzling. He didn’t mind at all the sweaty blond hair as he slid his fingers up to Arthur’s hair, didn’t mind at all the too hot body pressed against his, didn’t mind at all the perspiration-laded sleeves that covered Arthur’s arms as they gathered him close. He was too busy kissing and being kissed to care.

He finally pushed Arthur away when he heard the sound of heavy leather being dropped through the open door between Arthur and Yvain’s chamber. He soothed Arthur’s growl with another kiss and a smile. “Go bathe, I need to help Yvain.”

Arthur growled again, grabbing at his hips, refusing to let go. “He’s a big boy, he can bathe himself.”

Merlin laughed, pushing Arthur towards his own bath. “You’re an even bigger boy and can take care of yourself even better than he can.”

Arthur’s blue eyes narrowed before changing into something more seductive. “Merlin, don’t you want to help me wash my back?” he asked, all sugar and sweetness and sexual invitation.

Merlin could admit to himself that he would love to help Arthur wash his back and all of his other interesting bits, but his parental instincts made him give Arthur one last kiss, whispering “Later” against his lips before darting away to the sound of Arthur’s frustrated snarl. He continued to snicker under his breath at his lover, entering Yvain’s rooms to find Yvain just about to climb into his tub of steaming bath water. His son was using the side of the tub and Cadfael to keep his balance. Instead of calling out like he wanted to, Merlin merely readied his magic in case Yvain slipped, letting Yvain do it himself rather than hovering like an overprotective mother hen.

“Need help, sweetheart?” He knelt by the side of tub once Yvain was inside, smiling down at Yvain when his son dunked his head into the water, coming up blowing water out of his mouth like a fish. He chuckled, rubbing at wet hair.

“Could you please hand me the soap, Papa?” 

“How was practice with your father?” he asked as he helped Yvain bathe.

“It was brilliant!” Yvain exclaimed, hands busy with the soap, but his attention was on Merlin and telling him all about the new skills he had learned with Arthur and his knights today.

Soon, both Pendragons were dressed and the three of them were headed down to the small hall in which the family dined, either by themselves or with more intimate friends and allies. Uther, off visiting one of his more loyal nobles, had left the castle in the care of Arthur and would not be joining them. Many of the knights were already assembled, greeting them as they took their places.

Arthur frowned when he realized several places were empty. “Where are --”

“My apologies, Arthur.” Morgana came sweeping in on Leon’s arm; Gwen and Lancelot behind them. “Last minute changes to the menu for that feast we’re planning.”

Merlin had to hide a smile as Yvain immediately perked up at the mention of a feast. His son knew his day of birth was coming soon and his ears were honing in for any and all possible information pertaining to the feast they were planning for him.

“My birthday feast?” Yvain piped up from his seat between Arthur and Merlin, slipping Cadfael pieces of his meal even though the hound had already devoured his own enormous dinner.

“No,” Arthur immediately denied since this feast was supposed to be a surprise, filled with bards and performing troupes. It was a good thing Yvain hadn’t quite picked up on body language yet as Arthur’s lie was utterly obvious. “Your grandfather has invited several nobles to court soon. It’s a feast to welcome them.”

“Oh.” Yvain immediately deflated, Arthur stared at him, then turned to Merlin in utter panic at their son’s completely crumpled face.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, when it’s time for your feast, your Aunt Morgana will plan the best feast ever for you. Won’t you, Morgana?” Merlin shook his head at his lover’s inability to deal with Yvain’s sad little faces. He loved the man, knew he was a brilliant strategist, an amazing warrior, but he was shit at handling emotional crises, especially his son’s, preferring to have Merlin deal with it. 

“Of course, I will!” Morgana adamantly assured him, eyes bright with enthusiasm and laughter. Mostly like for Arthur’s latest stumble in parenthood. “It will be the most amazing feast Camelot has ever seen.”

“Until the next one,” Gwaine muttered under his breath from where he sat further down the table.

Merlin flicked his fingers, magically sending a small spoonful of Gwaine’s wine at his face for the man’s impudence. Gwaine wiped it off with a wicked grin, reaching for his breadroll, clear mischief in his eyes. Before he could throw it, Percival reached out and took it from him. When Gwaine protested, Percival tore off a hunk and stuffed it into Gwaine’s mouth, effectively silencing him to the amusement of everyone at the table.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 2

Wincing, Uther rose from his bed earlier than usual. The pain in his thigh where Yvain had stabbed him was a mere irritation but he forced himself to move past the pain. What kept him from his sleep was the hatred in his grandson’s eyes. He knew he would have to speak sternly to both Arthur and Yvain regarding the boy’s behavior, treacherously stabbing him in full view of the court . . . over a sorcerer.

The sounds of men and horses roused him from the papers scattered over his desk. At the window, he saw his son and grandson mounting horses. He squinted at the two cloaked figures being helped onto horses by Sirs Leon and Lancelot. Arthur and Yvain set their horses towards the castle’s gates, Yvain’s pet pacing by their side, a covered wagon being driven by Sir Gwaine behind them. The cloaked figures, who had to be Morgana and her maid, followed directly behind, leading several pack mules. Around them and the wagon, Arthur’s knights rode in a protective formation. Movement on the stairs drew his eye. He saw Gaius on the steps, head and shoulders bowed as he watched the procession leave.

Uther rang the bellcord that would bring his own manservant.

“Yes, Your Majesty?” George was bowing, eyes on the ground.

“Where are my son and grandson going?”

“I will find out, Your Majesty.” George disappeared, only to return moments later with Gaius. 

“Where are Arthur and Yvain?” he asked, turning to his oldest friend.

“They intend to bury Merlin.” Gaius’ eyes did not meet his, his shoulders were tight with tension, and he directed all of his words to a spot over Uther’s shoulder. It was disconcerting, never before had Gaius exhibited such coldness towards him. Surely Gaius, of all people, understood why he had to kill the sorcerer?

“Why would they bother burying a sorcerer?” he asked. The usual procedure was to display the body as a warning to others, letting the carrion birds peck at it until nothing but bones was left. The remains were then tossed into a pit reserved for sorcerers. “And where are they going with all of those supplies?” The pack mules had been burdened with as many supplies as they could hold.

Gaius’ eyes hardened. “They plan to take Merlin to his mother.”

Uther scoffed. “Why would my son bother burying a sorcerer, let alone travel to the outskirts of Camelot to do so?”

“Perhaps because he loved Merlin as much as Merlin loved him.” Gaius said the words slowly, as if speaking to someone incredibly dumb. Then he turned on his heel. “If you will excuse me, sire, I have patients to tend to.”

“Gaius,” Uther called him back, raising an eyebrow and pointing to his thigh. He was unwilling to even justify Gaius’ ridiculous claims. He knew Arthur kept his manservant as his bedwarmer, nearly everyone in Camelot knew, but love? His eyes narrowed. Perhaps the sorcerer enchanted him? Once they returned home, he would make sure that any influence left by the sorcerer would be removed. “You have your most important patient here.”

Gaius merely stared at him. “You will live, sire, unlike my nephew.”

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Merlin’s arm would have ached if he hadn’t used his magic to clean the prat’s linens. Who the hell needed this many pieces of linen on a simple bed? Arms piled high with bed linens, Merlin grumbled to himself as he made his way back to Arthur’s rooms. He was pretty sure the prat didn’t need to have fresh linens every other day, he was very sure that the prat was simply making his life hell, just like he had made Morris’ before him. 

“Some reward,” Merlin groused, glaring at the innocent linens.

A childish cry made him trip.

Merlin stopped, listening intently, frowning when he heard another whimper and the sound of a man’s rumbling voice. This area of the castle was reserved for the royal family, there were no children here. Except for Yvain.

Merlin dropped the laundry at the sound of another cry. He reached Yvain’s door in time to see Hector – one of Yvain’s servants – punch him in the stomach.

He violently surged forward, magic amassing in his arms, unthinkingly throwing the larger, heavily muscled man away from Yvain. Merlin watched just long enough to see Hector’s head crash into the wall, the man slumping down unconscious. He spun, sweeping Yvain into his arms. Frantic hands gently searched the boy, Merlin’s mind whirling at how the servant could even think about hurting the young, sweet boy.

“Yvain, are you all right?”

A trickle of blood beaded at the corner of his little mouth, tears welled in his huge blue eyes, his tiny hands fisted into Merlin’s shirt. His small body was shaking uncontrollably. Merlin nearly called up fire to burn Hector to cinders. Instead, he held the boy tighter, murmuring gently, soothingly.

“Guards!” he called, carefully standing with Yvain in his arms. He needed to get Yvain to Gaius, but was unwilling to leave Hector unpunished. “Guards!”

Yvain whimpered, one of his fingers pointing to Hector where he was rousing.

“Guards!” Merlin magically amplified his voice.

“Merlin?” Leon stormed into the room, followed by Tristan and the guards. All of them had their swords drawn, quickly sizing up the occupants in the room.

“Leon! Thank the gods.” Merlin immediately moved towards Leon and Tristan, Arthur’s cousin. “I found Hector abusing Yvain.”

“I was not!” Hector groggily exclaimed. “That bastard attacked me for no reason! I would never hurt Prince Yvain!”

Merlin opened his mouth –

“Liar!” Yvain accused, eyes glaring so very fiercely at Hector.

Their swords immediately found their target. Within seconds Hector was bound and being led away, shouting profanities and threats. 

Merlin turned to Leon. “We need Gaius.”

Leon nodded. “And the king and crowned prince must be informed.” Arthur’s second-in-command spun on his heel and left.

Merlin was shaking now that everything was over; shaking with fury at the other servant’s actions, fury that the sweet-natured boy in his arms was so abused, but the small body in his arms distracted him. He focused on Yvain, focused on taking care of him, on taking him from the scene of his attack and into Arthur’s rooms. He found one of Arthur’s shorter cloaks, still carrying Arthur’s scent, thinking of the times he was small and wanted nothing more than the comforting smell of his mother when he was sick or scared, and bundled the equally shaking boy into it. Yvain curled it around him, but refused to let Merlin go.

“Has he hurt you before?” Merlin asked quietly, sitting down in Arthur’s chair, Yvain a warm weight on his lap.

Yvain nodded.

“How long has he been hurting you?” Merlin curled about him even more, tugging up Arthur’s cloak, nearly hiding Yvain from all eyes.

Yvain slowly shrugged.

Merlin glared up at the ceiling. Yvain had always been a quiet child. Arthur had worried about him because – while Yvain looked like Arthur at that age – he acted nothing like Arthur. But now, Merlin wondered if Yvain really was a quiet child, or if his servant had abused him into silence. Merlin cuddled the boy even more at the thought. He would make sure the tell Arthur his suspicions, he vengefully promised himself. He knew the abusive servant would be punished, Uther and Arthur would see to it, but Merlin wanted to make sure the bastard got his full due.

“Merlin?” Gaius’ voice came from Yvain’s room.

“In Arthur’s room,” he directed, standing and moving towards Arthur’s bed, knowing that Gaius would need the room to examine Yvain.

Gaius bustled in and immediately began examining Yvain. He had to work around Merlin, since Yvain refused to let him go, and truthfully, Merlin did not want to let go of the small boy either. Gaius gave him a look, but he asked no questions, intent on fixing Yvain’s hurts before demanding answers. Merlin was relieved, fairly sure Yvain did not want to have to relive his abuse again and again. They would wait for the king and prince. 

“What is going on here?” the king demanded as he stormed in. Arthur was beside him, never taking his eyes off his son. Leon was behind them. “Gaius?”

Thankfully Gaius shooed them away, most likely to tell them of the evidence of abuse he and Merlin had found when they had removed Yvain’s clothing. The boy’s small body had been a canvas of mottled bruises. Gaius had applied soothing salves and given him a pain potion. Merlin had seethed and cuddled Yvain, letting the boy hide his face in his neck when tears threatened to spill. 

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Arthur, Yvain, Morgana, and the knights were gone for a fortnight. But when Arthur returned it was without his son.

“Where is Yvain?” Uther demanded without greeting his son.

“With his grandmother.” Arthur answered, but his back was to him, seeing to his horse instead of giving his father the respect Uther deserved.

“What grandmother?” Ygraine was dead and the land would freeze in the summer before Arthur left Yvain alone with Maude’s family.

“I left him in Ealdor, with Hunith.” Arthur still had his back to him.

Uther grabbed his shoulder, twisting the boy around, only to recoil. His son was ragged, looking as if he had just left a battlefield bitterly lost. Dark circles under his eyes, face long and hollow with pain, mouth tense and angry. His eyes themselves were the worst; they were dim, lifeless. They would not meet his own. Uther rallied to demand, “You left your son in Cenred’s kingdom? Alone?”

“Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, Lucan, and Bedivere are with him.” Arthur finished with his horse and walked away.

Before Uther could demand his return, Morgana swept by. Again he recoiled. Her face was a mask of unmitigated hatred. She said not a word to him.

That night, and for nearly every night forward, he took his meals alone. Unless he invited guests or demanded Arthur and Morgana’s presences, he dined alone. It was . . . disconcerting. No banter flying back and forth between Arthur and Morgana. No high, piping voice of his grandson telling them about his day. No sense of family that filled him until Ygraine’s absence wasn’t so keenly felt.

A week later, he demanded Arthur and Morgana attend him at dinner. It was a disaster. Neither child spoken unless directly addressed, and even then their answers were monosyllabic and as short as possible. And there was no Yvain to soften the silence when Arthur and Morgana weren’t speaking.

“Arthur, you’ll go to that village and bring back Yvain tomorrow,” he ordered, just to break the silence.

“No.”

Uther stared incredulously at his son. “What?”

“I promised him a fortnight with his grandmother.”

“She is not his grandmother!”

Arthur seared him with a glare before precisely wiping his mouth. “Thank you for dinner, your majesty, but I have duties I must attend to.”

He was out the door before Uther thought to stop him. 

Uther turned to Morgana only to see her drop into a perfect curtsey.

“A good evening to you, your majesty.” Nothing in her demeanor betrayed her true feelings but he could feel the anger and animosity nevertheless as she swept out of the room.

Uther sat there for a moment, fingers curled tightly around his knife. Their plates were barely touched; Arthur had been insolent and Morgana icy cold. Neither of his children addressed him with any warmth, addressing him with “your majesty” rather than “father” or “Uther.” It was that sorcerer. He had been too close to the royal family. 

Uther had seen how Arthur’s knights had deferred to him, had seen how Arthur had heeded his advice, had seen how many in Camelot had mourned his passing. What Uther could not see was how they could mourn a sorcerer. A criminal that was more dangerous than any other.

He forced himself to unclench his hand and reach for his goblet. It was best not to let the servants in the hall see his anger with his children. He would deal with them later, in private.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Merlin laughed into his hand as Lamorak, Tristan, Gareth, and Percival struggled to pitch the tent even though the winds fought against them. The tent was for Arthur, Yvain, and Morgana, to shelter them against the elements as they traveled through Camelot, surveying the land and meeting the people. A few times a year, Uther had Arthur make this journey, so that the people knew that their king and their prince watched over them. While Uther may have ordered his son on these travels, Arthur loved making these trips. He loved being out of the castle and, now that Yvain was old enough, showing his son their kingdom.

And while it would take pain of death to get him to admit it, Merlin loved these trips too. He grudgingly went on hunting trips with Arthur and his men, juggling weapons and armour, constantly being told to be quite, and then dealing with whatever Arthur had killed that day. There was also that one memorable hunt of the unicorn that ended in tears and a plague on the land before Arthur finally fixed his mistake. Merlin much preferred these trips, having already been on two with Arthur, because, while hunting happened, they traveled leisurely, meeting people and seeing the beautiful land that made up Camelot. Everyone was much more relaxed, despite having to do much themselves, since servants usually didn’t accompany them when it was only Arthur and Yvain. Uther traveled with an entire regiment of servants.

“Merlin! Stop laughing and help them!”

Merlin fought to keep his tongue in his mouth and did as he was told, mentally grousing that the prat could have helped too. Instead, Arthur seemed to be busy telling Yvain stories . . . most likely of some glorious battle he had single-handedly won. Merlin rolled his eyes, then lowered his head to surreptitiously slow the wind so that they could pitch the tent.

“Finally!” Tristan threw the hammer he had been using down, running a hand through his hair. Arthur’s cousin from his mother’s side shared the same blond hair and skill with a sword, but whereas Arthur was a complete prat, Tristan was quiet and serious. Perhaps because he was older than Arthur by a handful of years? Wisdom with age? Whatever it was, Merlin liked the man even though he did not know him well, not like he did Leon, Lancelot, and Gwaine.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Morgana said as she swept in. Leon, Gwaine, and Bedievere followed her, arms loaded down with rugs and portable furniture. “Leon, you first please.”

Merlin hurried forward to help Leon lay down the rugs, but was distracted by snickers at the entrance of the tent.

Arthur was there, feet planted, arms crossed, smirking. “Leon, Leon, Leon. Led around by your --”

“Arthur!” Morgana admonished, glaring at him.

Arthur rolled his eyes at her. Merlin privately agreed; it wasn’t as if they hadn’t heard Morgana swear even more colorfully than _Gwaine_ sometimes.

It was Leon’s turn to roll his eyes. “Fuck off, Arthur.”

“I’m your prince, you can’t talk to me like that.” Arthur’s smug, smug smile asked to be wiped off his face.

Merlin ignored Arthur’s continuing banter with his knights, even more relaxed now that they were away from the castle, hands busy laying down rugs but eyes busy searching for his younger charge. “Arthur, where’s Yvain?”

“Don’t be such a mother hen, Merlin. He’s with Lucan.” Arthur didn’t turn to answer him and merely waved vaguely towards the creek.

Merlin ignored yet another pseudo-insult, moving to join Yvain and Lucan. The master bowman was teaching Yvain how to skip rocks. The area Arthur had chosen to camp for the night was a large clearing conveniently located by a stream. They had been on this journey for a month now and it had been days since they last saw any towns or even travelers upon the rough-hewn road. Merlin hoped that the next town they stopped at would have better accommodations. While they had the cozy tents and Arthur had made sure Merlin’s cot was just as comfortable as his and the knights, Merlin was looking forward to a real bed.

“Merlin! Merlin! Look!” Yvain excitedly showed off his new skill, sending the rocks nearly all the way across the small creek.

“Well done, sweetheart!” Merlin praised, stopping to crouch by the young prince’s side, hands cupping Yvain’s shoulders. He exchanged a grin with Lucan. “It seems you had an excellent teacher.”

The dark haired man with sharp features shook his head. “Natural skill, this one.”

“Great,” Merlin muttered to him as Yvain wandered away to find more perfectly shaped rocks to skip. “Hopefully this one won’t brag about being trained from birth to kill.”

Lucan smothered his laugh but his pitch black, dancing eyes gave him away.

Yvain, thankfully, remained blissfully ignorant of Merlin’s words, too busy trying to skip a rock all the way across the creek again. As he should, Yvain thought the world of his father, completely unaware that his father could be a complete idiot. At least in Merlin’s opinion. Again, Merlin wondered, how such a sweet little boy could be the fruit of Arthur’s loins. He also wondered how he could find such a giant prat so damn attractive.

Lucan’s head snapped up, eyes searching.

Merlin immediately grabbed Yvain, finger to his lips. The intelligent little boy knew immediately to stay quiet, to stay low, and to place his hand on the small dagger Arthur had gifted him last winter. Merlin searched too but Lucan was off and running back to camp, motioning them to hide. He didn’t question the order; keeping Yvain safe at all cost was his priority. Arthur could protect himself and his knights were with him and the women. Yvain’s safety took precedence.

Yvain shivered in his arms when the screams finally reached their hiding place. It sounded like angry birds, not the screams of men dying. The knights were shouting, Arthur’s voice ringing out over the clash of steel against steel. The sounds confused him. Steel on steel sounded like men attacking their party, but why were there birds screaming? From where they were hidden, Merlin couldn’t see what was attacking their party. His magic urged him closer. He fought against it, needing to stay hidden to protect Yvain.

Arthur’s pained scream changed his mind.

“Father,” Yvain whimpered, turning in his arms, burying his face in Merlin’s shoulder. His little arms were a vice-grip around his neck.

“Hang on,” he whispered to Yvain. The boy immediately complied, wrapping legs around his waist, holding on tight. Once he was sure Yvain was secure, Merlin crept closer to the clearing, magic surging close to the surface of his skin, nearly crackling with the urge to protect his prince.

He stared in stupefaction as birds with bronze beaks and sharp metal feathers dove at Arthur and his men. The skeletal birds were pecking at skin exposed by the knights’ light leather armor and chainmail, their bronze beaks as sharp as swords. The horrid birds could also fling their metal feathers, aiming those weapons like arrows. Many of the men had wounds: Arthur’s shoulder had been impaled by one of the metal feathers while Percival and Elyan had cuts along their faces and arms. Kay and Geraint had been pecked on their unprotected backs; several large bleeding wounds the size of those damn beaks on each man. Ren and Gareth were standing over them trying to protect them.

None of the knights could kill the birds. Lucan’s arrows bounced off the metal feathers, Lamorak’s war hammer pounded on them to no effect, the same with Tristan’s mace. Bors’ battle axe whistled through the air but the birds maneuvered too fast. Swords were useless, shields only marginally better. Horrified, completely unsure what to do, how to stop these metal monsters, Merlin stared, mind frantically whirling.

More and more of Arthur’s knights fell from debilitating wounds. 

“Merlin!” Lancelot’s eyes begged for help even as he fought with Leon to protect Gwen and Morgana. 

There was no decision to be made as his friends fell one by one.

The first spell for fire burned the birds, but it only enraged them. They fought against the wind he spurred to epic proportions, some of them blowing away, but not enough. Finally, desperate, Merlin called upon all of his magic, unleashing the power of a raging storm. The lightning flashed through the sky, the birds screamed in fury and pain as it arced through the air and struck them down. Turbulent winds buffed the birds into the lightning’s path, thunder echoed in the bones of the earth. Merlin controlled the lightning, made it dance as it struck bird after bird, annihilating the threat. Sending bolt after bolt until every bird was dead, littering the ground with their metal bodies.

Threat gone, Merlin let the magic slip away: wind dying down to a gentle breeze, thunder quiet, and not a bolt of lightning lingered. The air was clear once more, a lingering smell of lightening and fire. He heaved a sigh in the silence that followed and slowly let his hand drop. His eyes gradually dimmed from their golden haze. He could feel the stares of every man, woman, and child. Yvain was still in his arms, hadn’t yet run screaming. Arthur was panting, sword and shield in hand, eyes fastened on him as if he would never look away. Morgana’s blue eyes could not be any wider, but Gwen’s surpassed her. The knights watched him with varying degrees of wariness and surprise. 

Lancelot was the first to move, firmly stepping in front of Merlin, eyes squarely on their crowned prince.

Merlin nearly jumped out of his skin when Yvain’s small hand patted his cheek.

“Thank you,” the boy sighed, draping himself all Merlin’s shoulder, hugging him with his entire body.

Merlin gulped, slowly reaching up to rub soothing circles into Yvain’s back, utterly grateful for not losing the love of this child. A child he had come to think of as his own. But it was this child’s father that he warily watched for any sign. A sign of what, he did not know. He feared losing the friendship they were building; he feared losing what it could be.

Arthur cursed, throwing down his sword and shield, making more than one person jump. “Morgana, Gwen, take Yvain and get him something to eat. The rest of you clean up this mess.” He pointed one imperious finger at Merlin. “You come with me.”

Merlin held on tightly to Yvain for a moment, afraid this was the last time he would ever be allowed, savoring the feel of his warm, trusting body in his arms. Then he tried to set Yvain down but the boy stubbornly held on, blond head shaking against his shoulder in denial. 

“No!” Yvain yelled right into his ear; Merlin winced but held on snugly. “I want to stay with you!”

“Yvain!” Arthur snapped, marching over, grabbing his son and pulling.

Yvain stayed attached like a leech. Merlin steeled himself to push Yvain away.

Arthur wouldn’t look at him as he continued to pull at his son.

Merlin swallowed hard, trying to gently ease Yvain off of him. “It’s all right, Yvain. It’s all right, go with your aunt.”

“No!”

“Yvain--”

“Oh for gods’ sake, Arthur,” Morgana cut him off. “Let the boy stay with Merlin. And you are going to talk right here.” She glared pointedly at Arthur. “After all, anything you want to say to Merlin you can say in front of us. And I, for one, would like to hear what he has to say.”

Merlin wasn’t quite sure what would be worse: hearing whatever Arthur had to say alone or with an audience. Whether confessing to Arthur alone would be better or worse than confessing to all of his friends. He dragged his feet when Arthur relented and pointed him at a log by the main fire. Everyone gathered around him; Lancelot stood at his back, obviously declaring his loyalties. Merlin spared him his most gratefully look. Lancelot, principled man that he was, merely nodded back, hand clamping down onto his shoulder in support. 

Everyone was silent for a very long time, some because they were seeing to each other’s wounds, others because they were unwinding after the battle, but mostly they were waiting for him to talk about his magic. Merlin didn’t feel like he could just get up and see to their wounds, so he used his magic to levitate his medical bag to Ren and Percival as they saw to the injured. Ren eyed the bag warily, but Percival grabbed it, immediately searching for the bandages and vials he needed. 

The simple levitation broke the tension as Gwaine waggled his eyebrows at him; Merlin shrugged. It was out in the open now, why bother hiding it. Still, it surprised him when Gwaine dropped down beside him and said, “I bet you can magic away these wounds, right? Leave me just a pretty as I was before?”

Merlin rolled his eyes at his friend, then glanced over at Arthur. For this, he would ask permission. Arthur seemed to metaphorically just throw his hands up in the air and nodded. Merlin was incredibly thankful that his prince still trusted him enough to let him, not only hold onto his son, but to actively use his magic to help heal their friends. With Yvain still attached to him, Merlin found himself watching their prince as he placed his hand over Gwaine’s various cuts and bruises to heal him. After he was finished there seemed to be a steady stream of those who wanted him to heal them. Most of them didn’t even flinch much went his eyes went golden and his magic flared out.

His friends’ faith in him was comforting, but it was Arthur that was important, it was Arthur he stared at as the last of the men’s wounds were seen to. Morgana looked like she wanted to goad him into having Merlin look at his shoulder, but to everyone’s surprise, Arthur merely heaved a sigh and lumbered to Merlin’s side, obviously moving slowly due to pain.

“Does it hurt, Father? Will you be all right?” Yvain spoke for the first time since his tantrum. 

Giving Merlin a pointed glare, Arthur turned to his son with a reassuring smile. “As soon as Merlin fixes me, I’ll be fine, Yvain.”

Merlin felt nothing but relief that Arthur still trusted him enough to let him tend to his wounds. 

Yvain was raptly watching as Merlin healed his father with magic, interest not waning even after watching him heal the rest of the knights.

“Why did you come to Camelot?” Arthur asked, shaking him out of his healing reverie. 

Merlin blinked at him, then went back to healing the wound. He had not expected that to be the first question. Something like “are you evil?” would have been more unsurprising than that. “My magic was getting out of control so my mother sent me to the one person she knew could help me.”

“Gaius,” Arthur stated, face so still it was like a mask. Merlin could read nothing of his emotions right now. He nodded. 

“Wait,” Morgana leaned forward. “You had magic before you came to Camelot? You didn’t learn it here?”

Merlin shook his head as he finished with Arthur’s shoulder and turned to fully face everyone. “Gaius says that there are two types of magic users: learned and born. Most people learn to use it; a rare few are born with it.” He couldn’t help darting a glance over to Morgana as he added under his breath, “A very few rare ones.”

“Like you?” Yvain asked, staring curiously up at him now.

He couldn’t help but smile in pride down at Yvain. “Yes, like me. My mother said I could levitate my toys when I was even younger than you.”

Yvain giggled when he tapped him on his little nose.

“You’ve been using it ever since, haven’t you?” Arthur turned to him now, blue eyes calm and steady on his. “You’ve been using it to save me, to save Yvain and Camelot?”

Merlin opened his mouth to answer but something made him look at his prince closely, to actually study him since the birds attacked. His eyes widened when he saw the truth, the calmness. There wasn’t a single spark of anger or confusion or . . . . “You knew,” he breathed. “You knew I had magic!”

Arthur glared at him. “I’m not stupid, Merlin. I knew something had to be happening. I knew someone had to be watching over me, Yvain, and the rest of Camelot.” He peered at him. “Unless you were causing all of the magical disturbances just so that you could win my trust by stopping them.”

“I would never --” Merlin sputtered indignantly, still trying to understand how his prince knew. What had he done to expose his magic to Arthur? And why was Arthur watching him so closely that he could know Merlin’s most important secret? He stared down at the hand the snuck its way to holding his own, something in his heart unfurling at the feel of Arthur’s hand in his own.

“Of course not.” Arthur had the audacity to roll his eyes then insult him, all the while holding his hand. “You’re not diabolical enough for that sort of plan.” His eyes darted around their circle of friends, his grin growing wicked. “Morgana, on the other hand.”

Merlin nearly wilted in relief when the clearing filled with laughter and Morgana’s smug assurances that she could absolutely plan something like that. His heart grew warm when Arthur slanted him a forgiving smile and his hand squeezed Merlin’s.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 3

His steps slowed as he neared his son and grandson’s quarters. Uther fully intended to speak to both of them, to address their recent behavior. To Yvain he would dole out an appropriate punishment for his stabbing and he would make sure his grandson’s tutors knew to reinforce the correct beliefs regarding magic. As for Arthur, his son had many, many transgressions to answer for. Not only his recent behavior towards Uther but also blatantly disregarding his edict to bring Yvain home. Arthur had left him in Cendred’s kingdom for an entire fortnight, the two of them and the knights Arthur had left to ensure Yvain’s safety returning only this afternoon.

Arthur had perfunctorily presented Yvain to Uther and the court before whisking his son away. Yvain was just as proper and just as lacking in warmth as his father as he made his greetings to his king. Neither of them looked him in the eye. Uther intended to speak to them both in private tonight, but as he neared his son and grandson’s hall of the royal wing, their voices drifted out of Arthur’s open door.

“I miss him, Father.”

Uther wanted to dismiss the guards that were in hearing distance as soon as Yvain’s words registered. He didn’t want rumors about discord in the royal family floating about Camelot. He wanted to show the people of Camelot a strong, united rule. But the sounds of the guards leaving would alert Arthur and he wanted this chance to hear what Arthur and Yvain said to each other in private.

“I miss him too, Yvain.” Arthur’s voice sounded as bitter and exhausted as he looked these days. Uther had told him to rest properly so that he could be at his best but the boy merely agreed and politely dismissed himself, obviously not taking his advice to heart.

“Father?” Yvain was hesitant as he paused. “Papa had magic . . . do you think. Do you think he could come back?”

Uther felt his heart squeeze – in fear – in shock. Yvain mentioned magic far too easily and without a hint of the fear or hatred it deserved.

“Yvain, listen to me very carefully, all right?” Arthur took a deep breath. “If there was magic like that, I don’t think anyone would have been powerful enough to work it.”

“Are you sure, Father?”

This time Arthur sighed, sounding sad, voice quieter than before. “I’m sure that if it had been possible, your grandfather would have brought your grandmother back to life.”

“Grandmother Ygraine?”

Uther didn’t hear Arthur’s response. Perhaps he had nodded or whispered the answer. In either case, his son was right. He had searched every avenue opened for him, begged information and help from every source, but had been fruitless in his quest to bring back the love that magic had stolen from him.

When the silence fell inside Arthur’s rooms, he leaned just enough to see inside. Arthur was at his table, Yvain in his lap, that enormous beast at their feet. Yvain held on tightly to his father, Arthur’s arms around him just as tight, both of them staring into the fire.

Strangely, Yvain leaned forward, towards it. “I miss you, Papa.”

His fists clenched. He had told Arthur months ago that it was completely improper for the king’s grandson to call a mere peasant “papa.” He had reiterated that command and the impropriety of it only days ago now that Merlin had been shown to be a treacherous sorcerer. Uther realized he would have to be more . . . exacting in his next conversation with Arthur. 

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

“Father?”

“Yes, Yvain?”

“I heard one of the new squires call a man ‘papa.’ Is that another name for a father?”

Merlin paused as he laid out clothing for Yvain for the day. Through the open doorway between Arthur’s chambers and Yvain’s, their voices floated as the two princes of Camelot broke bread together. He had been in there, but had quickly stuffed his mouth until he was full so that he would have time to get a few errands done for Gaius before coming back here to get Yvain’s clothes ready. His hands stilled as he listened to father and son.

“It is.” Arthur paused, most likely to study Yvain; Merlin had seen him do this many times in their conversations together. It was as if Arthur was trying to understand his son better than his own father had ever tried to understand him. “Why do you ask, Yvain?”

There were a few beats of silence before Yvain asked, “Will you marry again, Father?”

Arthur’s hesitation was very loud. “I may.”

“Oh.”

“Yvain.” There were sounds of heavy cutlery being placed down onto earthenware plates. “Yvain, do you want a mother?”

Merlin had to move, had to see their expressions, but if he moved into the doorway they would surely see him and stop. Instead, he used a spell he had recently learned, to see through solid objects. Casting it at the wall between the two rooms, he was able to clearly see Arthur and Yvain through the ghostly outlines of stone and mortar. 

Yvain was playing with his food, face downturned, not looking at his father.

Arthur was staring helplessly at his son. He reached out and gently captured Yvain’s hand. “Yvain? Answer me. Do you want a mother?”

Yvain shrugged one shoulder, still not looking at his father. “I don’t know. What would a mother do?”

Arthur was clearly at a loss for words. After all, he never knew his own mother either, how could he answer his son’s question? “Well, I imagine a mother would tuck you in at night, would hug and kiss you when you wanted her to. She would probably help you with your studies; she would take care of you when I couldn’t.”

Merlin hugged himself, remembering his own mother and everything she meant to him. He had sometimes wondered the same question, but about a father’s role in his life. He stopped wondering when he came here to Camelot; when he met Gaius. He may call the man “uncle” rarely, but in his mind, Merlin thought of his mentor more as his father than either uncle or mentor.

Yvain finally looked up at his father, peering at him. “But Merlin does all of that.”

Arthur was clearly startled, but then gently refuted, “A mother would love you, Yvain.”

Yvain stubbornly shook his head. “Merlin loves me! He told me so. He calls me ‘sweetheart’ and he tucks me in at night and reads me a story or tells me one he made up. And he has the best hugs!” He looked utterly contrite as he immediately backtracked. “After you, of course, Father.”

Arthur flashed a rueful grin but it immediately disappeared. “Yvain, you know that Merlin cannot be your mother.”

Merlin bit back a smile as Yvain rolled his eyes at his father. “Of course not, Father! Merlin’s a boy! He can’t be a mother; girls are mothers.”

Arthur’s smile was bigger this time, stayed longer. “Of course, Yvain, you’re right. Merlin’s a boy.”

Yvain’s face took on a considering look. It was the same look Arthur had when he was contemplating something, when an idea took root and a plan blossomed. “Father, could I call Merlin ‘papa?’ He’s like a mother, but he’s a boy so he should be ‘Father’ but you’re ‘Father’ so could he be ‘papa’ instead?”

Merlin’s amusement immediately faded, his heart leapt up to his throat, his breathing became difficult. This boy, this beautiful, bright, loving little boy wanted to claim him as his papa? 

“I could love him like I love you, right, Father? If he’s my papa I can love him like that, right?”

He had to wipe away the tears, completely unsure if Yvain’s attachment to him was a good thing. Merlin already knew that his very life could be in danger if the king were to ever find out about his magic. He would have to leave, to watch over Arthur and Yvain from afar. It would be completely unfair to Yvain, to let him love him as a child loved a parent, only to leave him like his mother did if Uther ever found out.

And then there was Arthur; who was staring at his son with hesitation and something else. Merlin thought it might be jealousy. After all, what parent would want to share the love of such a wonderful child with someone not Yvain’s parent, not someone they loved themselves? He and Arthur might be friends, as much as the prat allowed himself to be friends with others, and while they were even closer now that Merlin’s magic was an open secret between them, he was under no delusions that Arthur would ever consider him his equal. Especially not as Yvain’s parent.

“I.” Arthur cleared his throat. “I think you would need to ask Merlin that, son.”

Merlin nearly choked on air, staring at Arthur in complete disbelief. He nearly lost control of the spell, he was so shocked by his answer. That Arthur would even let his son ask that sort of question . . . it left Merlin reeling.

Yvain, displaying a perception that should have been past his years, carefully studied his father. “Would you be all right if I did?”

Arthur searched Yvain’s face, leaning closer to lightly run his fingers over the smooth curve of his son’s cheek. “I think you deserve the love of as many people as you want, Yvain.”

Merlin let the spell drop when he saw Yvain’s sweet smile. He rushed from the room, hiding himself in a niche behind a tapestry. He buried his face in his hands. He knew before even leaving Yvain’s room what his answer would be if Yvain ever asked. How could he ever say no to Yvain? How could he ever deny Yvain his love like that?

Merlin lifted his head, nodding sternly to himself, vowed to himself that he would be more careful with his magic. Arthur, Morgana, Gwen, and the knights might be able to help him cover up his use of magic, but he knew it was up to him to be more cautious, so that Uther would never find out, so that he would never have to leave Yvain and Arthur.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

It seemed the only way to learn anything meaningful about his son, grandson, or Morgana now was to lurk in corridors and overhear things like a common busybody. It had been nearly three months since Merlin had been exposed as a sorcerer and had died at his hands. The sorcerer had been too close to the royal family to wait for a trial and a proper burning or beheading. Uther had acted swiftly to ensure the safety of his family. He felt no remorse for stabbing Merlin right there in the Great Hall during Yvain’s birthday feast. Once Merlin had revealed his magic, he had forfeited his life and, as king, it was his duty to dispense justice. 

Only his fool of a son and daughter refused to be in his presence any longer than necessary. He worried that something of Merlin still lingered, something that was making Arthur, Morgana, and even Yvain act this way. He had even consulted Gaius on the matter, but was told in clipped tones that Merlin had left nothing behind but an empty shell when he had been murdered. Uther had been sorely pressed not to throw the old man out into the streets, old friend or no. Ultimately, he stayed his hand because Gaius was the most skilled, the most knowledgeable of physicians. No one who had come to Camelot had ever compared to Gaius and Camelot’s royal family deserved only the best.

So he bore their stony silence and coldly polite answers when directly spoken to. He could not chastise them for their behavior for they were the perfect images of son, grandson, and ward. Arthur trained his men, and was still the best champion, defeating any enemy of Camelot. The people worshipped him; the nobles envied but still supported him. Morgana was an impeccable chatelaine, overseeing his household with an iron fist encased in a velvet glove, ruling with elegance and competence. She had many noble and royal suitors but she continued to rebuff them all. He suspected she had her eye on one of Arthur’s men, but had no proof of illicit activities. As for Yvain, he was dutiful in his studies and training, doing well in them both. They all said and did the right things in front of others, but there was a distinct lack of warmth that had been present before. Uther missed that warmth but had no idea how to bring it back.

Until he found a way to regain that familial warmth, he was stuck in the position of having to eavesdrop to learn anything of value from his own household. The moment he had walked passed Arthur’s chambers and seen his son staring pensively into the fire, fingers on his lips while Morgana looked upon him with compassion, he had ignored the guards and immediately secreted himself into a nook that allowed him to overhear everything in Arthur’s rooms clearly. As long as the door remained opened.

“You’re still not sleeping, are you, Arthur?”

“No more than you are.”

“My nightmares are getting better, thanks to Gaius.”

Arthur made a positive noise.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Morgana’s voice was gentle as she asked.

Arthur was silent for a very long time. Finally, he grudgingly answered, “I can’t sleep without Merlin anymore.”

“Oh, Arthur.” She sounded compassionate as she sighed out his name.

“The bed is too cold without him.” 

Arthur made it sound as if he couldn’t replace his dead bedmate with a new one. Preferably one that was not magical in any way. He was the prince of Camelot and that guaranteed him more than enough willing bedmates. Even if he had not been a prince, the boy was handsome and strong, in good health and charming. Any one of those things would make him attractive to anyone in the whole blasted kingdom. Uther had no idea why he didn’t just replace the servant he had lost. There was no shortage of other comely servants within the castle. That girl, Morgana’s handmaiden, for example. Even if her father had been killed for witchcraft, she seemed completely without magic; for surely, she would have saved her father if she had magic.

There was a long silence before Morgana spoke again, this time her voice was curious and teasing.

“I know when you two became lovers, but I never knew how.”

“Morgana--” Arthur warned her off, low and cold.

“No, you never really talk about him, hording his memory like Uther does with Ygraine. It’s not good for you; it’s not good for Yvain. He needs to talk about it, but he’s emulating his father and remaining this stoic little doll. It’s not natural and it’s not in his best interest.” She was gentle and persuasive, but utterly adamant.

“Did you want to talk about it when your parents died?” Arthur sniped back snidely.

“No, but after my nurse made me talk to her, I did feel better. I had someone who could speak to me about them, share their experiences with my parents that I hadn’t known about until then. It helped me feel closer to them.” Her voice was lower now, but no less filled with conviction as she explained. Uther had not known Morgana had confided so in her nurse. He knew that she had spoken to him about her parents, after all, Uther had been close friends with the le Fays, but he had thought he was the only one. “Now,” her voice morphed from kind to demanding, brooking no further argument. “Tell me how you and Merlin became lovers.”

There was silence again for a very long time, but eventually, Arthur spoke, his words infused with memory and longing. “It was Merlin’s fault.”

“Of course, it was,” Morgana was indulgent as she prompted him.

“It was,” Arthur insisted, even though there was a hint of laughter in his voice now. “Do you remember Lady Janet and her mother?”

“Dear gods, that harridan and her harpy of a daughter? Yes, of course I remember her. They left quite unexpectedly, didn’t they?”

“Because Merlin discovered they were trying to use a love potion on me.”

“No! Did they really? How . . . utterly boring and overdone.” She sounded as if she was having a hard time holding back her laughter.

“I’m glad someone trying to make me fall in love with them through the use of magical potions is so amusing to you, Morgana.” 

Uther completely agreed with Arthur dry sarcasm. This was not a laughing matter! If Arthur had been compromised by magic, the results could have been disastrous. And the fact that Arthur had not told him about this incident only increased his ire. How dare the boy not report instances of magic in Camelot? Now that Uther knew, it angered him that the two ladies had left the castle without being stopped and punished for their crimes; unfortunately, they resided in another kingdom and could not be brought back for justice. He would just have to settle for banning them from his kingdom.

“Of course, Arthur, my apologies. Do go on.”

Arthur hmmphed but continued his story. “So, Merlin bursts into my chambers just as I’m about to tear off her clothing . . .”

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

“Arthur, no!” Merlin surged towards the prince, grabbing him, yanking him away from Lady Janet. He ignored her shrieking and screaming, focusing all of his strength on subduing a snarling, messily fighting Arthur. If he hadn’t known Arthur was under a love potion, his flailing and general lack of fighting prowess would have confirmed it. “Arthur! Arthur, no!”

“Let go of me! Let go! I want her!” Arthur yelled, spittle flying everywhere, pushing all of his considerable weight of muscle against Merlin, trying desperately to get to the woman.

“Merlin, what’s going on?” Leon exclaimed, dashing into the room, surveying the mess: Janet on Arthur’s bed still screaming, clutching her torn clothing to her bosom; Merlin and Arthur grappling against each other.

“Holy,” Percival muttered, right behind him.

“Grab him!” Merlin yelled at them both, losing the battle and his grip on Arthur. Thankfully, the two knights jumped on the prince but only Percival was really needed to hold Arthur down. The tall, heavily muscled knight easily held Arthur captive. Chest heaving from his exertions with Arthur, Merlin leaned against the table and glared at the still shrieking banshee of a woman. Stomping to the bed, he jutted his face right into hers and ordered, “Stop screaming, you idiot!”

It was her turn to gasp in heaving breaths as her wide green eyes stared at him. She cringed and cowered when she finally focused on him. 

“Take your mother and leave Camelot before I tell the king you were using magic on his son.” Merlin said each word slowly, carefully, infusing them with cold, unsubtle menace. He had no idea what she saw in his face but she scrambled from the bed, running full tilt out of Arthur’s chambers, forgetting pieces of her clothing as she went. He glared at the door for a single moment more before turning to Arthur. He would make sure Janet and her mother were gone, but later. For now, Arthur was his priority.

He turned towards Leon and Percival, both men now struggling with Arthur as he tried to follow Janet out of the door. He rubbed his hands over his face, sighing. With a simple flick of his wrist the door was closed and barred. Leon and Percival still obviously weren’t inured to such causal use of magic because they both stared at the door as it moved on its own. Thank the gods he had confessed his magic to Arthur and his knights, it had made things like this so much easier. The knights, Morgana, Gwen, and Yvain all seemed delighted to watch as Merlin performed easy feats of magic: lighting fires, levitating things, dousing princely prats with water from out of nowhere when said prince was getting a little too pratty for Merlin’s taste. Morgana, of course, loved that last one the best. 

“Put him on the bed, please,” he asked wearily; the knights quickly complied. He was getting ridiculously tired of people trying to make Arthur fall in love with them. First Sophia, then Margaret the seamstress, then all five of Lord Abelard’s daughters and their schemes . . . all within a span of seven days. It was all the stupid prat’s fault.

“Couldn’t you have been born ugly?” he snarled at Arthur, hands flicking out again to animate the bed curtain ties. The long strips of fabric wound themselves around his wrists and arms, effectively tying him down to the bed. Arthur jerked and yanked but thankfully the magically enhanced ties held. “It’s bad enough that you’re a prince and an amazing fighter, did you also have to be beautiful? If you were ugly this would happen less often! But, noooooooooooo, nearly every week some woman is trying to make you fall in love with her using some potion or spell. And I have to save you! Every time! It’s bloody exhausting!”

“Let me go! I want her! Make her come back! I order you to let me go!” Arthur ranted in return, completely ignoring Merlin’s rant as he fought against the ties but the fabric was reinforced with Merlin’s magic and the bed was solid oak. He wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Merlin was distracted from his glaring when Leon clamped a friendly hand on his shoulder. He turned to see the steadfast knight with gleaming eyes and twitching lips. Leon was clearly holding back laughter. Percival was near the door, quietly guffawing into his fist, his tall, big body shaking with it. Merlin glared at them both.

“Don’t worry, Merlin,” Leon said, squeezing his shoulder, widely grinning now. “We’ll make sure the king knows that Prince Arthur is indisposed for the next . . .” he trailed off and waited for an answer.

“Gaius thinks it’s going to be at least through the evening,” Merlin grudgingly replied.

Leon nodded. “We’ll make sure his duties are spread out amongst us.”

“Could you also ask Morgana and Gwen to watch over Yvain for me?” Merlin was just tired now as he leaned against one of the bedposts. He had been running around all day, in between his duties, trying to find the evidence against Lady Janet and her mother, then trying to find a cure for the love potion in case he was too late to prevent Arthur’s dosing. Which, it turned out, did not exist. Apparently only time would work the potion out of Arthur’s body. He would have to stay and watch over the too attractive idiot for the rest of the day and night to make sure Arthur returned to his senses.

“Yes, of course, Merlin.” Leon nodded to Percival who unbarred the door. “Take care of him, all right?”

Merlin slowly nodded as he followed them to the door. “Could you have the kitchens send food for us up here?”

“Of course,” Percival said, turning towards the kitchens.

Merlin watched as Leon had a quiet word with the now-conscious guards posted in this hall and decided to leave that matter to Leon. He would have felt bad about spelling them unconscious, but it was easier to make them think they had fallen asleep than to explain any magic he might have done in Arthur’s rooms or to have them come running in while Janet had been screaming bloody murder. It was best that he had asked Gaius to summon Arthur’s knights instead.

He closed the door but did not bar it, knowing that in a few minutes someone would be coming with food. Merlin reminded himself to meet them at the door, not wanting one of the other servants to see Arthur tied to the bed. If word got out, then it would surely reach the king’s ear and Merlin did not want to deal with a magic-hunting Uther on top of a magically affected Arthur. 

With another withering glance at the still struggling and shouting Arthur, Merlin settled himself in Arthur’s comfortable chair by the fire and picked a book at random and started to read. When the food came, he was thankful to see Percival at the door because Arthur was still yelling. He hadn’t quite figured out how to silence the man yet unless he utilized a gag and he wasn’t about to do that unless he absolutely had to. He was pretty sure Arthur was going to remember today and while tying him up was one thing, gagging him would probably get Merlin some disgusting duty or the stocks once Arthur recovered his faculties. Vengefully glaring at Arthur again, he decided to enjoy his dinner first and feed Arthur later. Thankfully, Percival had the foresight to bring food that was not only easy to feed to a tied up man, but would also remain tasty even after it went cold: bread, cheese, thinly sliced meats, and fruit.

Leisurely eating and reading, still completely ignoring Arthur’s ranting, Merlin enjoyed his dinner for the first time in quite a while without the need to worry about taking care of Arthur or Yvain’s dinners. The book was also truly interesting, a discourse of war tactics that also doubled as a history treatise. Once he had finished his dinner, he picked up the tray and headed over to the bed.

“Are you hungry?” he asked mildly, looking down at Arthur who had fallen silent only a few minutes before.

“Yes,” came the grudging answer. Arthur was mulishly watching him through his fringe, body now lax against the big bed.

Merlin warily eyed him, could already see bruises starting to form where the prince had struggled against the magically enhanced bindings. He mentally reviewed the medicines he kept here in Arthur’s rooms, hoping that the bruise salve Gaius made with arnica was still there. “You’re not going to try something to get out of here, are you?”

“If you’re asking if I have an overwhelming urge to fling myself at Lady Janet, the answer is no.” Arthur was gritting his teeth again, blue eyes snapping in remembrance of what the woman had tried to do. “But I’m still under the potion’s spell.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow at him, confused. “What does that mean?”

To his everlasting delight, Arthur not only squirmed, he blushed too! “I’m still . . .”

“Still what?” Merlin shamelessly prompted, not bothering to hide his grin.

“Aroused, damn you! Happy now?” This time Arthur’s glare could have left him a greasy spot if he was a lesser man.

Merlin merely grinned wider as he settled down onto Arthur’s bed, close enough to Arthur to easily feed him, laying the tray of food across his lap. “Oh, yes. Most definitely.”

“Feed me you, idiot.” And with that order, Arthur laid back and opened his mouth, fully expecting Merlin to comply with his wishes.

Merlin rolled his eyes but began picking out pieces to layer together for his prince. He held the food up to Arthur’s mouth. “So why does this keep happening to you?”

Arthur was kind of adorable as he groused around his food, shrugging one shoulder. His face was completely disgruntled as his mouth worked the bread and meat; eyes glaring fire and retribution. Merlin grinned down at him, violently stopping himself from cooing at him. Arthur reminded him of Yvain when the boy wasn’t happy about something, little face just as disgruntled, little eyes glaring like a wet kitten, hunched over his meal, body slumped as he leaned against the table, vengefully shoveling food into his mouth.

“I don’t know. Can’t you and Gaius find something to ward them off or something?” Arthur waved a hand, then squirmed again.

Merlin forcibly did not look down that long body, keeping his eyes on the next bite he was assembling. He smirked down at Arthur instead. “I don’t think there’s enough magic in the world to stop women from trying to ensorcell you.”

Arthur hrrmphed at him before taking the bite offered. Merlin had to brush away the feeling of those soft lips on his fingertips. But Arthur must have noticed, damn him, because no matter how far away he held the bites of food, Arthur would raise himself up just high enough to lick or lip at his fingertips. When Merlin could make himself meet Arthur’s eyes, they were smoldering as they watched him. Merlin swallowed hard and focused back on feeding the bastard. It was the damn potion, Arthur did not want him in his right mind.

“Merlin--”

“No. You’re under the influence of a potion, you’re not in your right mind,” Merlin said it out loud, just as much for himself as for Arthur’s benefit. He moved further away, making the food in bigger chucks now, hoping to hasten the feeding so he could escape the temptation that was laying spread out over the big bed. Arthur was stretching and slithering all over the bed, kept only in place by the binding on his wrists and arms. Long body shifting and thrusting up into the air.

“Merlin,” Arthur moaned his name this time.

He had no idea how the situation changed from innocent to heated in only a few seconds. “It’s the potion, Arthur, you don’t really want me.”

Arthur actually scoffed even as he curved his body towards Merlin’s, rubbing a muscled thigh against his back. “You haven’t been paying attention, Merlin. Of course, I want you.”

Merlin stared at him for long, long seconds, but in the end, he didn’t believe him. He had been paying attention, damn the bastard. He did nothing but pay attention! To the way the sun haloed Arthur’s beautiful blond hair, the way the light loved his golden prince. Paid attention to the way Arthur was so very kind to the old of the village, to the way he always let Yvain play with the castle children even though Uther said it was beneath them. He saw all the ways that Arthur tried to do the right thing, thinking about his people rather than his own needs and wants. He saw the incredible king Arthur would become and already was. He never saw a single sign that the prince had anything other for him than friendship. Even if Merlin had longed for more.

He shoved the last of the fruit into Arthur’s mouth and walked away.

“Merlin! Come bacmmph!”

He didn’t care about the repercussions as he gagged Arthur with a bit of cloth from his wardrobe. There was no way he was going to listen to any of what Arthur had to say while under the influence of the love potion. It would only break his heart.

Merlin sat himself down at the table again, picked up the book he had been reading, and resolutely ignored his prince.

The first rays of the morning sun found him still at the table, waking up to an unfortunate crick in his neck that he slowly worked out as he stood. Merlin walked towards the bed to find Arthur still asleep. He had removed the gag in the night, afraid Arthur might choke on it if he fell asleep with it in. Thankfully, Arthur had not said another word, merely stared hard at Merlin for one fraught-filled moment before he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

Knowing the potion should be gone from his system, Merlin flicked his fingers at the bindings so that they returned to their places, leaving Arthur free to move. Another flick of his fingers brought the bruise salve to hand. He picked up one of Arthur’s wrists and began to apply it. It wasn’t until he was on the second wrist that Arthur caught him by surprise, curling around him, the arm that had already been treated wrapping itself around his waist.

“I do want you,” Arthur said softly, watching him intently, seriously. His eyes were clear from the haze of the potion, resolve written into the blue depths and in the lines of his face. “That wasn’t just the potion.”

Merlin could only stare at him, baffled, trying to understand what it was that Arthur was saying, what it was the prince wanted from him.

“If my feelings aren’t returned,” Arthur continued, but his eyes begged him for a certain answer. “I will understand and leave it be.”

Merlin swallowed, eyes darting over his shoulder to the closed door that lead from Arthur’s room to his son’s. He knew his feelings, for not only this man, but also his child. Yvain called him “papa;” Merlin thought of him, called him, “son.” He loved Arthur, but he would not hurt Yvain for a mere moment of pleasure. And it would hurt Yvain if he could not stay because Arthur had broken his heart. He took a deep, fortifying breath. “I won’t be a bedwarmer, Arthur.”

Arthur’s low laugh surprised him. Merlin watched as Arthur’s body flowed like water as he sat up, a sword-callused hand cupping his face, thumb brushing against his lower lip. “Not a bedwarmer,” he refuted, shaking his head, but his eyes were steady as they stared into his. “You could never be just a bedwarmer.” Arthur leaned his forehead against his, sharing breath and space, his eyes begging him to understand what he couldn’t say. “You’re everything, Merlin. To me. To Yvain. Everything.”

The lump in his throat refused to budge, the thumping of his heart threatened to burst his ears; Merlin gasped yes against Arthur’s lips.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 4

Apparently she had been in the castle for days before he noticed her presence. 

Uther stared at the woman seated beside Arthur, with Yvain in her lap, laughing with _his_ family over a meal in Arthur’s chambers. He refused to acknowledge the jealousy that piked him in the gut when he saw how relaxed they all were, how smiles lit up their faces, how they all vied for her attention. She was a mere peasant, homespun clothing in dull, drab colors, worn and mended. Her hands were rough from work, her common brown hair merely piled on top of her head. 

And, yet, the mother to a treacherous sorcerer was more welcomed at Arthur’s table than his father, the king.

Uther stormed into the room; all conversation stopped cold as they stared at him. He stared coldly back. “You are not welcomed in Camelot.”

Raging storm clouds gathered in Morgana’s eyes as she slowly stood. Arthur’s mouth thinned and hardened as he stood as well. Loathing filled Yvain’s face as he turned to wrap his arms around Hunith’s neck.

“Hunith is here as our guest, your majesty.” Arthur moved around the table, placing himself between Hunith and Uther. 

Uther didn’t care that his son was using that voice that pleaded with him to leave them be. He didn’t care that his grandson already had tears forming in his eyes, arms tightening around her. He pitched his voice to be obeyed. “She is not welcomed in Camelot.”

If Hunith had not stayed his hand, Uther was sure Arthur would have raised it against his own father. “It’s all right, Arthur, I’ll go.”

“No! Grandmother! No!” Yvain clung tightly, openly crying now.

“It’s for the best, sweetheart,” she murmured, then began whispering into his ears, the sounds of cajoling words even as she eased him off her lap and into Morgana’s arms. She pressed a kiss to his forehead before standing and facing him.

She swept into a curtsey that had vastly improved upon the ungraceful kneeling she had displayed the first and last time he had seen her. He idly wondered if she had been taking lessons from Morgana or her maid. “Your majesty,” she addressed him with nothing but politeness.

He knew it was a façade, he knew she hated him for killing her son. Uther stared at her as she passed by him, daring her to attack him in his own castle. He did not like the fact that she walked by him as if he wasn’t even there. She merely turned back, a regretful expression on her face as she waved goodbye to Yvain.

“Leon, Lancelot,” Arthur turned to his men, a strange look in his eyes. “See Hunith out safely.”

“Of course, your highness,” Leon answered, immediately moving to Hunith’s side, offering her his arm.

Uther sneered at the courtly behavior for a mere peasant, but said nothing as Lancelot followed them out. He turned back to his son, hardened eyes penetratingly stern. “She is banned from the castle, Arthur.”

His son’s chin went up, stubbornly set. His eyes were hooded and Uther could no longer read the emotion in them. “As you wish, your majesty.”

Uther raked Morgana and Yvain with a similar look to ensure their compliance. While Morgana curtseyed in cold, formal etiquette, Yvain turned his face away from him, hiding in Morgana’s skirts. 

Uther’s hand clenched, but he said nothing, sweeping out of the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The warning bells woke him from his sound sleep. Disoriented, but after a lifetime of battles, Uther surged out of bed, body moving before his mind was fully awake, hand already grabbing his sword. His manservant burst into his room just as he finished dressing and reached for the door.

“Your majesty! Prince Yvain is gone!”

Uther left his servant behind as his earth-eating strides took him down into the courtyard. People were gathering: foot soldiers, knights, servants. They ran towards Arthur, standing in his night clothes but still indubitably the prince, commanding the people of Camelot.

“Leon! Take men and start from the north wall, make your way through the city. Tristan, take the south. Percival, east; Elyan, west.” Arthur directed his men as they gathered before him, some fully armored and ready for battle, others smoothly pulling on armor and weapons as if they had not been just pulled from a sound sleep. He continued to issue orders even as Morris dressed him then helped him into his leathers and armour. “Lancelot, Gwaine, you’re with me. Morgana, you and Gwen coordinate the servants to search the castle.”

She nodded, turning to the servants that were rushing into the courtyard from every crevice like mice swarming a hunk of cheese. “Morris, gather the kitchen servants, you have the north tower and everything around it. Gwen . . .”

Uther grabbed Arthur before he could mount his horse. “Was he taken? That woman, Hunith?”

Arthur hissed at him, jerking away, expression both incredulous and fury-filled. “Hunith would never harm a child! Yvain ran away. He left a note, his things are missing and so is Cadfael.”

Uther stared down at the piece of parchment Arthur had thrust under his nose.

> Dear Father,
> 
> I love you but I don’t want to stay in Camelot anymore. I’m going to find Grandmother, but we’re not going back to Ealdor because Grandfather would be able to find us there. Please don’t worry, Father, I’m taking Cadfael and my weapons with me. Grandmother and I will be fine.
> 
> Your son,  
>  Yvain Pendragon

Uther crushed the note in his fist. “You will bring him back,” he ordered but Arthur had already ridden out, several of his men following. The courtyard had cleared, leaving behind only one or two servants as they searched the area for their youngest prince.

He stood there, alone, feeling superfluous. His son had everything well in hand, his daughter as well. Uther threw Yvain’s note into a brazier as he passed it, heading for the throne room. There he would wait, knowing that any news would come to him there.

Uther waited in vain. Hours passed, George occasionally bringing him food and wine, but no news of Yvain. No one else had come in the room the entire time he waited. Finally, evening had come to pass and he retired to his rooms, knowing Arthur would know to find him there if there was any news. But he had not been woken in the night with any news from his son, his ward, or any of their possible emissaries. Indeed, he may have been left woefully uninformed if it hadn’t been for his manservant.

George was unusually happy as he brought him his morning meal, even smiling a little.

Uther glared at him as the servant tidied his quarters and laid out his clothing, all the while still smiling that stupid little smile. “Why the smile, George?” he asked mildly, unwilling to let the servant know that his happiness could affect a king’s mood, but his eyes still held a glimmer of stern rebuke for such unseemly happiness when the youngest of the Pendragon princes was missing.

George, obviously seeing the censure in his eyes, faltered; his expression was bewildered, his hands frozen where they had been righting the writing implements on the table. “Uh, just happy that Prince Yvain was found safe and sound, your majesty.”

Uther refused to let the servant see his anger, his relief. His grandson was safe, but his son had neglected to inform his father and his king that Yvain had been found. He ignored the quiet shuffling of his manservant as George left posthaste. He forced himself to calmly finish his morning meal before dressing himself, unwilling to wait for his manservant. He forced himself to take measured steps towards Yvain’s rooms.

He was not surprised to see his grandson’s room filled with people: Arthur, Morgana, her maid and several of his knights. He was not surprised to see Gaius examining Yvain for injuries. He was not surprised to see Yvain’s enormous dog draped across the entire foot of the bed, lifting its large head to study him with sharp, bright eyes before dismissing him and turning back to its master. He was not even surprised to see the sorcerer’s mother cradling his grandson. He was surprised, however, to see the red flush across Yvain’s cheeks, the sweat dampening his hair and brow. Arthur hovered over his son, standing back to allow Gaius space to work, but kept a hold of Yvain’s hand.

“A fever, your highness,” Gaius pronounced, turning to root about in his bag of medicines and tools. “Willow bark, to be made into a tea.” He handed a small bag of the stuff to Morgana’s maid. “If you wouldn’t mind, my dear? And something light for him to eat. Broth, perhaps?”

“Of course, Gaius.” The maid carefully held the bag as if it contained a rare potion, skirting him with the barest of curtsies and respect as she headed towards the kitchens.

Uther ignored her. “Arthur.”

His son turned towards him, obviously not surprised by his presence, obviously choosing to ignore his father. Uther clenched his fists but kept his face passive, only allowing Arthur to see the rage in his eyes. “Report?” he gritted out.

Arthur nodded, but did not attend him immediately. Instead, he pressed a kiss to Yvain’s forehead, squeezed his smaller hand in his before giving his care over completely to Gaius and Hunith. His son walked with a straight back and head held up high; there was not an ounce of contrition or shame in his body. He stopped mere feet from Uther, placed his hands behind his back and stared over Uther’s shoulder. “He was found two hours after sunrise, huddled between a tree and Cadfael. He was warm enough because of Cadfael, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from getting sick. Other than his fever, Yvain is fine.”

“And why was I not informed immediately?” Uther demanded, keeping his voice low, but filled it with his rage.

“I was concerned with seeing to Yvain, your majesty. My apologies.” Arthur’s voice was a dry monotone, but there was a rebuke in his eyes. 

Uther decided to let it pass, knowing that he would have also seen to the health and wellbeing of his son before reporting in to his father as well. He just wished that Arthur had spared him several hours of needless worry. “And the woman? Did she have something to do with his disappearance?”

A flash of something crossed Arthur’s face. “Your majesty, you saw the note. Yvain left of his own free will.”

Behind him, his knights shifted, obviously listening to their private conversation. Uther glared at them for their audacity. Morgana swept into his field of vision, placing herself squarely between him and the bed where Yvain lay in Hunith’s arms.

“She did not aid him?” Uther found himself unwilling to let the matter die. He knew that the woman had nothing to do with Yvain’s disappearance, and yet, some part of him knew that she was part of the reason. Yvain had not said so in his goodbye letter, but he knew that it was his banishment of her that triggered Yvain’s actions. His grandson had run away because he had sent away the last remaining link to the sorcerer.

“No,” Arthur replied emphatically, eyes hard and challenging.

Uther glared back at his son, stepping forward aggressively. “She --”

“Pardon me, your majesty, your highness.” The maid dropped a quick curtsey as she entered the room, a tray laden with food and the vile-smelling willow bark tea.

“And that is enough with all of you.” Gaius stood to allow Gwen room to place the tray near Yvain’s still sleeping body. The old man glared at them all, hands waving them out. “Everyone must leave. Yvain needs to rest and he won’t get that with all of you in the room.” He sternly watched as the knights filed out, followed by a reluctant Morgana escorted by Gwen and Sir Leon. “Arthur, you may stay,” Gaius announced as he saw everyone to the door. “And you, Hunith.”

Uther opened his mouth to demand the right to stay but Gaius pierced him with a glare just before he shut the door in his face. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hours later he returned to Yvain’s room, wishing to check on his fever and for the chance to hold his grandson. Unfortunately, Uther found Yvain’s room empty. Since this was not unusual, especially when the boy was sick, he simply walked down the hall towards Arthur’s rooms. There he found Yvain draped across Arthur’s chest as his son hypnotically bounced and swayed in an effort to soothe the child that was whimpering quietly into his father’s neck. Held in the curl of one arm, Yvain clutched close a doll, the other arm limp and dangling by his side.

“How is he?” Uther asked quietly, raising his hand to brush back sweat-soaked hair from his grandson’s still flushed face. He forced himself to ignore the woman seated at Arthur’s table and the careful and wary way she watched him.

“His fever has not broken,” Arthur answered, taking the cool cloth Hunith had just wrung out and soaked for him. He placed it first on Yvain’s brow, then the back of his neck. Yvain pushed at his father’s hand with the doll, making broken noises that sounded like ‘papa.’ 

Uther ignored his grandson’s feverish ramblings. “Has Gaius been back to examine him?”

“He just left.” Arthur gave Hunith a grateful smile as she handed him a goblet of wine, then small bites that she had assembled for him from his mid-day meal. 

Uther nodded, then held up his hands. “Here, let me take him for a moment so that you can eat.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” Arthur seemed genuinely contrite as he pulled away, “but Yvain will fuss if anyone else takes him. He won’t even let Morgana or Gwen hold him.”

Remembering how fussy Arthur had been as a child, Uther withdrew. His son had only allowed himself and his nursemaid anywhere near him when he was ill as a child, throwing weak, but still violent, tantrums should anyone else try to hold him. It seemed his grandson was very much like his father in more than just looks. “Inform me when he is better.”

“Of course, your majesty.” Arthur offered an abbreviated bow, careful not to jar Yvain.

Uther had almost closed the door to Arthur’s quarters when he heard his son murmur, “I wish Merlin was here.”

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Merlin awoke because something small and soft, but very important, tugged at his sleepy mind. He lifted his head, careful not to disturb Arthur who was curled all around him. He heard the soft sound again but couldn’t pinpoint its source. A flick of his fingers stroked the fire higher and brighter as he scanned the room. By the doorway, between Arthur’s chambers and Yvain’s, a small shadow shivered and shook. 

Merlin jolted out of bed when he realized the shaking bundle was Yvain, wrapped in a blanket from his bed and crouched down low, quietly crying. Pain bloomed in his chest as he saw how miserable his tiny son was, trembling against the cold stone.

“Merlin?” Arthur murmured sleepily but Merlin ignored his lover, arms already outstretched as he swooped towards their son. 

“Papa,” Yvain whimpered, arms clenching weakly around his neck, pressing his too hot face into Merlin’s neck.

“Oh, my darling,” Merlin soothed, gathering Yvain, blanket and all, close. “You’re burning up, you poor thing.” He cooed and swayed as he walked back towards the bed. He felt wretched. Why hadn’t Yvain come into their room? Why hadn’t he woken either of them up? Did he feel unwelcomed in here? If Yvain did, Merlin was going to set him right the moment he was feeling better. But, for right now, he had a fever to combat. 

Arthur was already up, grabbing for his robe, eyes fuzzy but becoming more and more focused. “Should I get Gaius?” He was already halfway to the door.

Merlin shook his head as he climbed into bed with Yvain, tucking more blankets around his shivering body. Gently, he pulled Yvain from his neck, flicking his fingers once more to light and levitate a candle. Yvain was flushed with fever, eyes glassy as they winced away from the candlelight, small hands loosely fisted in Merlin’s sleep shirt.

“Papa, I don’t feel good,” he whispered brokenly between coughs.

“I know, sweetheart, I know. Father and I have just the thing for your fever.” He barely glanced over his shoulder at Arthur, nodding towards the cabinet where he kept liniments and other remedies for small ailments. “Willow bark tea, that will help.”

Arthur immediately began searching the small cabinet, triumphantly brandishing a small pouch for Merlin’s inspection. 

Once he nodded, Arthur gathered water and a hanging pot to boil water for the tea. 

As they waited for the water to boil, Merlin continued to sooth and examine Yvain’s shaking body. Their son was having trouble breathing, mucus clogging up his nose, he was coughing and wheezing just a bit. Yvain was curled upon himself, hugging himself even as he burrowed closer to Merlin. He held his son close, rocking and humming songs his mother taught him, the ones she sang when he had been sick. He pressed kisses to Yvain’s forehead, just as she had done for him.

“A summer fever,” Merlin diagnosed quietly into Arthur’s ear when his lover wrapped himself around them both. Yvain had immediately latched onto Arthur as well, holding onto his father’s rough hand, keeping both parents close. “The willow bark will help with the fever, but we’ll need a few more things from the cabinet.”

Arthur nodded, gently detangling himself from Yvain’s hands, brushing a kiss on his forehead with a quiet promise to be back before sliding from the bed and moving towards the cabinet. “What else?”

“The coltsfoot and anise poultice will make breathing easier for him,” Merlin answered, nodding his head towards the pot in the fireplace that was already steaming thanks to a quick application of magic. He watched Arthur prepare the poultice and the tea, carefully juggling both. A piece of ice summoned from the depths of the mountain river cooled the tea just enough for Yvain to drink it.

Their little boy refused after the first sip, weakly shaking his head and making gagging sounds.

“I know, sweetheart, I know, but it’ll make you feel better. I promise,” Merlin cajoled, carefully keeping the cup steady so it wouldn’t spill all over the both of them.

“Honey?” Arthur suggested, bottle already in hand. 

Merlin thought about what Gaius had taught him regarding mixing honey with the willow bark and saw no reason not to add it. When he nodded, Arthur swirled it into the tea. Thankfully, it was enough to get Yvain to swallow it. After he had drained the goblet, Merlin and Arthur worked together to smear the poultice onto a thin cloth they had placed on Yvain’s chest. After a few moments, to both of their relief, it was obvious that Yvain was breathing easier.

The next morning, Yvain’s fever had not broken but had definitely lightened, leaving their son in a restless sleep. 

Gaius had come when Arthur had called, examining Yvain with an experienced eye. “You’ve done everything exactly right, Merlin.”

He exhaled lowly, glad that his confidence last night was based on solid ground. Merlin reached up to squeeze the hand Arthur had laid upon his shoulder, leaning back against his lover’s strong chest. “Is there anything else we can do? He seems so restless.”

Gaius tilted his head, bright eyes under busy eyebrows studying Camelot’s youngest prince. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were alone, before slanting towards Merlin. “A poppet? Filled with sage and rosemary. It would help soothe him.”

Arthur’s hand squeezed his shoulder; Merlin looked up at him, eyebrow raised. “Make sure it looks nothing like him,” his lover warned, eyes hard and intense as they stared down at him.

Merlin swallowed, nodding. Dolls and poppets were popular toys for children, especially young ones, but some magic users had been known to warp the toy into a tool. Creating an effigy of the person whom they wish to affect, magic users could cast on the doll and through it the person would suffer the effects of the spell. Uther, suspicious and magic-hating as he was, had forbidden the creation of any doll or poppet with even the merest resemblance to the royal family. 

Keeping that in mind, Merlin summoned cloth, the medicinal herbs, and uncooked grain. He fashioned the cloth doll so that it reminded him of his mother, long brown yarn hair up in a bun, homely but comfortably soft brown dress. A pink rosebud of a mouth, made from thread, and warm brown eyes created from two wooden buttons. He filled the poppet with the herbs and grain, casting a gentle heating spell at Gaius’ urging before placing it in Yvain’s arms. Yvain immediately curled around the warm, generously stuffed toy, falling deeper into sleep.

Merlin barely noticed when Gaius left after replenishing the medicines in the cabinet. Instead, he concentrated on Yvain’s slightly easier breathing and Arthur’s solid strength. “Don’t you need to get to practice?” he asked quietly, just to know, not in any hurry to see his lover leave.

“Leon is overseeing it,” Arthur answered just as lowly, hand reaching out to curl large fingers over Yvain’s much smaller ones, thumb caressing the soft skin on the back of their son’s hand. “And Tristan is taking my patrol today.”

Merlin nodded, pressing his forehead against Arthur’s. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Arthur huffed something close to a laugh. “The last time Yvain was sick, he cried the entire time, wouldn’t let anyone but me hold him.” He made a harsh sound deep in his throat. “I don’t know if his illness was more severe last time or if I was doing something wrong, but this is so much easier with you.”

Merlin pressed a kiss against Arthur’s lips. “It’s just a summer fever,” he reassured him. “I’m sure you did everything right last time.”

Arthur gave him a skeptical look, curling around him in weariness. 

Merlin pressed Arthur down onto the bed next to their son, laying himself down on Yvain’s other side. Spending an entire day in bed would have been decadent and a luxury, except Yvain was suffering and it made this day in bed undesirable to Merlin. He was flummoxed; how could he heal severe wounds but not a summer cold? Shaking his head at the fickleness of magic, he curled around his son and lover and dozed.

A little while later, Yvain awoke, blond lashes fluttering, still slightly glassy eyes slowly focusing on them. “Father? Papa?”

“Good morning, Yvain,” Arthur murmured as he looped his long arms around their son, sitting up with Yvain in his lap. “How do you feel?”

“Tired.” His eyelids drooped, attesting to his answer, but then his stomach growled. Yvain smiled weakly when they quietly chuckled at him.

“And hungry?” Merlin teasingly guessed, rubbing his nose along Yvain’s, ending with a kiss on his son’s forehead. He flicked his wrist, a tray full of bland food floated from the table towards the bed, settling softly between them. A quick spell warmed the food to just the right temperature. He leaned back against the wooden headboard of their bed, watching as Arthur helped their son eat, laughing softly at the faces Yvain made because of how bland the food tasted.

“Why does it taste funny, Father?” Yvain complained as he reluctantly but obediently opened his mouth for another bite of porridge. His sweet little face screwed up as he swallowed as fast as he could.

Arthur hid a smile in Yvain’s hair, one big hand spanning Yvain’s stomach, holding him close and secure. “Because you’re sick, son.”

Yvain made another face, stubbornly closing his mouth this time and tilting his head away from the spoon Arthur held. “No,” he said through completely closed lips.

“You must eat, Yvain. Please, son,” Arthur cajoled.

Yvain made a negative noise, shaking his head side to side to avoid the spoon.

It was Merlin’s turn to hide his smile as Arthur continued to hold the spoon to Yvain’s mouth, looking thoroughly stymied when Yvain refused to eat.

“Yvain,” Arthur’s voice was stern now.

“No!” Yvain’s mouth had opened, but even Arthur’s amazing reflexes were too slow as their son snapped his mouth shut after that vehement denial. It was a little uncharacteristic of Yvain to refuse his father’s command, but Merlin knew it was the boy’s illness that made him contrary.

When Arthur’s face hardened, Merlin intervened, knowing that look was a mere beat away from unleashing obnoxious tyrant Prince Prat Arthur Pendragon. “Why don’t we add a touch of honey? It may help?” He flourished the jar, making it spin and dance in the air to Yvain’s tired delight. With it added to the porridge, their son consented to eating the rest before obediently taking his medication.

As soon as he swallowed his medication, Yvain yawned, little eyes already drooping. Merlin scooped Yvain into his arms and lay down, smiling back at Arthur when he wrapped himself around them both.

The three of them curled together for the rest of the day.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 5

 

Uther surveyed the table with satisfaction. 

Arthur and Morgana sat on his right and left, Yvain on Arthur’s other side, fully recovered from his illness for nearly a week now. The table was piled high with delicacies to tempt even the most discerning and his family was with him, Uther could not be more pleased.

“Morgana, how goes the arrangements for the feast?” he asked, breaking the silence that had descended upon the table after his children and grandchild had politely greeted him.

“Well, your majesty,” she murmured, not lifting her head from her soup.

“And what sort of entertainment have you procured?” Uther helped himself to more bread, passing it to his son. He frowned briefly when Arthur shook his head, then let it go. Perhaps the boy was not hungry or perhaps he was falling ill after caring for Yvain for so long. He made a note to tell Gaius to check on the crowned prince.

“Jugglers, your majesty, ones whose specialty is juggling flaming torches.”

Uther sat back, pleased. “That does sound interesting, excellent--”

“Papa could juggle pure fire,” Yvain announced.

Arthur and Morgana instantly stilled, but it seemed as if the very air itself had frozen.

Uther stared at his grandson. “What was that, Yvain?” His words were precise, knowing that he could not have heard what he thought he heard.

His grandson’s face was mulish as he looked up from his food. His blue eyes glared ice and hatred at him. “I said--”

“Yvain,” Arthur warned, reaching for his son.

“That Papa--” He twisted away from his father’s hands, dodging once more when Arthur surged to his feet to grab at him.

“I think the next course is in order,” Morgana interjected loudly, imperiously waving at the servants who stood frozen at the outskirts of the room. Her handmaiden was the only one that moved, urging the others into movement.

“Could juggle pure fire,” Yvain finished triumphantly, little chin rising stubbornly, eyes now daring him. 

Uther clenched his hand around his spoon as deathly silence fell. He could feel his blood pulsing as Yvain’s words sank in, as Arthur and Morgana’s words and actions made treacherous sense. “You knew,” he hissed, searing his son and daughter with looks that immobilized them in their seats. “You knew about the sorcerer.”

For a heartbeat, neither said a word, both faces a blank mask. But then Arthur’s face morphed into decisive derision, body straightening, infused with tension and a kind of daring.

“Arthur--” Morgana’s voice wavered with warning and fear when she saw the expression on his face.

Arthur lifted his chin, so much like his son. “He was my husband, of course I knew.” He was unrepentant, daring him like Yvain had, staring at him with his mother’s eyes and blatantly admitting to betraying his father, his kingdom. 

His blood pulsed in the space behind his eyes, his body ached from the strain infused into his very marrow, his hands could not unclench from their rictus. He could feel the rage surging from somewhere deep and ugly inside. “Get out.”

His duplicitous offspring moved with unseemly speed, Arthur grabbing Yvain, hand clamped firmly over his son’s mouth, as he and Morgana fled the hall.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Where are my son and ward?” Uther asked as George served him his first meal of the day. Sleep had not come easily as he thought about what to do. He could not kill his own son and daughter for their duplicity regarding the sorcerer. He could not order their banishment for it would weaken the kingdom in the eyes of their allies and enemies alike. They had betrayed him, they had betrayed the laws he had set forth to protect the kingdom from the threat of magic. He could not let them go unpunished.

“They’ve gone, your majesty.” George did not raise his head as he answered, keeping it lowered in deference as he back away and towards the door. “Gaius, too.”

Uther did not believe that Arthur had fled the kingdom, afraid for his life or those of his son and Morgana. “They’ve gone to escort that woman home, haven’t they?”

“Yes, sire.” George was to the door now, one hand already on the latch. “If there is anything else, sire?” 

Uther shook his head, too busy thinking about the situation to truly care as his servant fled. When the answer came to him, he smiled.

~*~*~*~*~*~

It had taken two letters, sternly worded with promises of leniency before Arthur would even consent to bringing his entire household back to Camelot. Nearly a month after they had left, Arthur, Yvain, Morgana, his knights, her maid, and Gaius finally came home. None of them had dismounted, as if ready to flee for their lives at a moment’s notice.

He stood at the top of the steps, overlooking the courtyard, in the perfect position to see them as they realized what had been piled into the middle of the courtyard.

“Father,” Arthur’s voice was careful from astride his horse, hand already on the pommel of his sword. Arthur kept his eyes on him rather than on the people in the courtyard, many servants and various courtiers, who had gathered to watch when Uther had ordered his men to begin amassing items for the pyre. His men were warily watching anyone with a weapon. “Why are all of our things piled outside?”

Everything from Arthur, Yvain, Morgana, and Gaius’ quarters was in the mound. Clothing, books, furniture, rugs, every bit of frippery and knick-knack found in their rooms was there. His men surrounded the enormous heap, each one carrying a lit torch.

“It is obvious,” Uther said, eyes piercing his son’s. “That despite being dead, the sorcerer still has a grip on you. I am merely ensuring your sound mind and safety.”

He signaled his men, Morgana crying out in shock when her dresses acted as kindling to the flames, spreading the fire across all of their possessions. Soon the smell of burning silk and wood perfumed the air. Uther could see the tightening of his son’s hands on the reins of his horse, the only outside sign of his anger. Morgana glared at him as her beautiful things burned. Gaius seemed to wilt as he whispered about how difficult some of his ingredients and materials had been to collect. Yvain was the only one crying as he slid down his horse and buried his face into his dog’s fur. 

Uther hardened his heart against the denunciation and animosity in their eyes, nodding to another of his men. Watched without moving as the soldiers gathered things that Arthur and his household had taken with them on their trip. The trunks filled with clothing and other things thunked heavily into the fire. No one made a move to stop the soldiers. Uther was pleased that Arthur realized how futile it was to fight against him.

A flash of white caught his eye. 

Uther turned to the captain of his guard, a loyal man whose family had been killed by a sorcerer. “The hound too.”

“Yes, sire.” The man drew his sword, motioning several of his top guards with him. To a man they nervously approached the enormous animal, keeping their shields up and the swords ready.

“No!” Yvain yelled, pressing his back against the animal, arms spread wide as if his small body could protect the much larger dog. “He’s mine! No!”

“A sorcerer’s familiar,” Uther refuted his grandson, finally moving from the stairs, intent on reaching Yvain and ripping him away from the sorcerer’s gift if need be. “I will not have anything of that sorcerer near you, do you understand, Yvain? He is influencing you still.”

“He’s just a dog, Father.” Arthur had slid off his horse, standing between the captain and his men. “Just a pet. And I am the one who gave Cadfael to Yvain.”

Uther sneered at his son. “You are lying to my face, how dare you!”

“How dare you!” Arthur’s eyes flashed, his face hardened, he actually drew his sword. “He never did anything to hurt you! He only ever protected us! Protected Camelot! You took him away from us!”

Uther stepped back, drawing his own sword, but he couldn’t hold it up, couldn’t believe that his own son had been so thoroughly turned against him. “Arthur--”

“You killed Merlin for nothing! Nothing! He was my husband! Yvain’s father! Gaius’ nephew! He had never harmed an innocent being in his life!” Arthur raged, advanced, stalking him like prey. His golden hair, so like his mother’s, glowed in the sunlight, but his anger was incandescent. His eyes held the fire’s reflection, but there was no warmth there, only burning fury and the ashes of misery.

“No! Stop! Father!” 

Uther sagged in relief when Yvain’s voice distracted Arthur, but relief soon turned to refuse when he realized Yvain wasn’t stopping his father from attaching his grandfather. No, Yvain was screaming for his father to stop the guards advancing on his pet. 

“I order you to stop!” Arthur roared at the guards, stomping back down the stairs.

Everything fell into place. Arthur and Yvain’s behavior, the dog. How Arthur hadn’t done anything to stop the bonfire consuming their things, hadn’t done anything until the dog was threatened. Perhaps it even housed the sorcerer’s power, perhaps the sorcerer had been able to shapeshift and took the dog’s place. The hound was the key. “KILL IT!” he roared back. “KILL THE DOG!”

His men raced forward. Arthur’s men blocked their way, maneuvering horses and their own bodies into obstacles. Fighting broke out, Arthur’s knights against Uther’s, the castle guards skirting the very edges, trying to get to the dog without engaging any of the knights. Morgana and her maid used their horses to encumber many of the guards, daring any man to strike at them.

“Go, Cadfael! Go! Please!” Yvain was pushing at the dog, pushing it out of the courtyard, through the gates that lead into the city. “Cadfael, go! They’ll kill you! Please, go!”

The dog darted away when a guard snuck up behind it, but ran right back to Yvain’s side. 

“No! Leave him alone! Go, Cadfael!” Yvain pushed the dog once more before pouncing on another guard, biting and scratching. The guard roughly pushed him off but Yvain dove at him again, taking the larger man down to the ground, his helmeted head ringing against the cobblestone.

“DO NOT HURT MY GRANDSON!” Uther commanded, skirting the edges of the fight and the fire. Grunted in pain when Yvain turned his fury onto him. He grabbed at the dagger the boy had pulled out of his belt, knocking it away, catching a furiously struggling Yvain in his arms. “Kill it!” he ordered the still dazed man.

“Run, Cadfael!” Arthur jumped between the guard and the hound.

The dog ran, his men gave chase. 

Uther turned to see his son sheathing his sword and coming towards him. He thought that with the dog gone his son would come to his senses but Arthur merely plucked a now limp and sobbing Yvain from his arms and walked away. The boy crying into his shoulder; arms locked tight around Arthur’s neck. 

“Your orders, sire?” the captain skidded to a stop beside him.

“Find the dog, kill it. A reward to the man who brings me its head.”

The captain bowed. “Yes, your majesty.”

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Merlin refused to stop, barely hiding his magic as he carried Yvain to safety. His son clung to him with arms and legs, but he could feel the cold steel of a dagger against his back from where Yvain clutched it. Instead of hiding his face in fear, his small, fierce son watched his back, ready to stab anyone foolish enough to try an attack. Yvain had already bloodied the dagger in this fight. Behind him, Morgana, Gwen and Gaius fought off any attackers who stumbled upon them in the all-out melee that had broken out inside the castle. Knights and guards took on the horde of invaders trampling through their halls; servants cowered and hid.

When the unknown soldiers had invaded the castle, Arthur had ordered him and the others to stay in the most fortified room in the castle, the throne room, but before they could get there, attackers had waylaid them, forcing Merlin to unleash his magic upon them. Morgana and Gwen had taken up the fallen attackers’ swords, Gaius reluctantly arming himself as well. 

“Where do we go?” Morgana hissed as they crouched in hiding. They had found this little used room, but fighting could be heard just down the corridor.

“The whole castle has been overrun,” Gwen hissed back from her position at the window. “There’s fighting everywhere, it’s even spilling out into the town.”

“We won’t be able to stay here for long.” Gaius carefully sorted through the bag he had managed to grab before Arthur had hauled him out of his rooms. 

Merlin could see that the supplies his mentor had were simple tonics and the most basic of healing medicines. Nothing that would be of use right now. They needed a secure hiding place, some place no one would think of going, somewhere the invading army had no knowledge of. Some place forgotten. “I know where we can go.” 

“Where?” Morgana asked, making sure the ties securing her dress out of her way were tight before hefting her sword and shield. 

“The dragon’s cave.” Merlin braced for the backlash.

“Dragon?” Yvain’s voice grew excited, his eyes wide as he started at him. “Papa, you know where a dragon is?”

“Merlin,” Gaius drew out his most stern and cautioning tone.

“Dragon?” Morgana and Gwen both echoed, their faces mirrors of shock. 

“Here, in the castle?” Morgana demanded, immediately whipping her head back towards the door, making sure no one had heard her.

“Under the castle,” Merlin corrected, sending Gaius a pleading look. “You know you’ll be safe down there. No one even knows it’s down there.”

“Except Uther,” Gaius countered. While his mentor had looked worried from when the first shouts and screams had been heard, his face was now filled with apprehension and even more fear. Uther had not mellowed in the least in his stance against magic. If anything, he had become even more militant.

“Who’s busy fighting off an invading army!” Merlin shot back. He knew it was their only chance. He could ward the room here, but it would leave traces. Every time he had done the spell in the past, golden lines had traced the entrance where he placed the ward, drawing attention even while keeping them safe. The dragon’s cave was the only safe place in Camelot.

Gwen nodded, her chin up and resolute. “I agree with Merlin, we need to get Yvain to safety.”

Morgana nodded as well. 

Gaius sighed but finally nodded.

Merlin let out a relieved breath that turned into a huffed laughed when Yvain bounced onto the tip of his toes. He grinned down at his son as Yvain grinned up at him.

“A real live dragon!” his son whispered, high and excited. “I’ve always wanted to see one!”

Merlin immediately sobered and went down on one knee before his son, cupping Yvain’s shoulders, bending upon him a most stern look. “This will be our secret, Yvain.”

Yvain eagerly nodded but his eyes were just as serious and earnest in a way only children can achieve. “Like your magic.” 

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, knowing his next words would cause issues. “Yes, but don’t tell your father or his knights.”

Yvain instantly froze with indecision, for he had never asked his son to keep a secret like this from Arthur. His son bit his lip, worry and indecision completely warring on his face.

“Merlin--” Morgana’s voice held more than just a note of warning, her eyes blazed. She was fiercely protective of the family they had created, completely intolerant of anything that would strain the bonds. Petty fights were settled under her sweet words or her iron fist; a secret like this would never remain under her purview. Especially now, when everyone was so happy, when her dreams were finally being controlled with Merlin and Gaius’ help.

“I want to tell him myself,” Merlin clarified as he opened his eyes, sweeping them all with a pleading look. “I’ve been planning to tell all of you . . . it just slipped my mind.”

Morgana gave a most inelegant snort. “Right, an enormous magical creature just slipped your mind.”

Merlin helplessly flailed his hands and shrugged his shoulders. It had! Day to day life was filled with loving Arthur, loving Yvain, mundane chores, saving Camelot, and friendship. The dragon only came to mind when he needed help, just like now.

Gwen smiled as she patted his shoulder. “You’re just lucky we love you, Merlin.”

Morgana rolled her eyes but smiled. “All right, lead the way, Merlin.”

Their journey to safety was marred by only one attacker, quickly and easily dispatched by Morgana’s swift sword. They were nearly to the entrance of the tunnel that lead to the dragon’s cave when a wave of cold and unease halted Merlin’s feet.

“Mer--”

He quickly shushed them, pressing them back into an alcove, muttering quick spells to hide them from sight. The unease grew and grew to nearly unbearable levels until Merlin saw it. 

A knight but nothing the likes of which he had ever seen before. Silver chainmail and armour against a ragged black cloak, under its hood, a face of silver gleamed. No flesh could be seen, every movement jagged and unearthly. To his every sense it seemed inhuman.

Gaius’ hissed breath and horrified eyes said he recognized whatever it was and that it frightened him enough to shrink back against the wall. Morgana and Gwen instantly lifted their swords and shields. In reaction, Merlin strengthened the spell, hardening it to shield not only eyes and hearing, but to shield them from any weapons the creature might wield. 

After long, tense moments the cold and unease finally moved away. Merlin waited an even longer moment to make sure it wasn’t coming back. They ran for the tunnel entrance, carefully, slowly, making their way in the dark, not stopping for light until they were far enough away from the entrance that the light wouldn’t give them away.

They kept silent until they reached the large cavern then a whoosh of wings had the rest of them staring in awe at the dragon that landed on a nearby outcropping. Merlin, used to the dragon’s dramatic entrances, ignored it, placing Yvain on his feet so that he could turn his attention to warding the cave’s entrance.

“Young warlock, you’ve brought me guests,” the Great Dragon boomed.

“By the gods,” Morgana whispered, eyes still fastened on the creature. “I didn’t know dragons could speak.”

“Only those of my race, young seeress, speak your language. The others speak only the language of the dragons.”

Morgana dumbly nodded at the impromptu lesson.

“The castle is being overrun by an invading army, this is the only place they’ll be safe,” Merlin explained to the dragon, glancing at Yvain, making sure he was unharmed. His son was too busy staring at the creature to notice, mouth dropped opened, eyes wide and filled with awe. He smiled softly before shaking it away. “Gaius, that thing, what was it?”

Gaius, who had seen Kilgharrah before had spared him only a single glance before turning to him. “A knight of Medhir, Merlin.”

“A what?”

“Three hundred years ago, seven knights of Camelot were seduced by a sorceress and turned upon her enemies,” Gaius explained, finding a suitable stone for a seat and sinking down with the air of a man about to deliver terrible news.

“They’re soulless creatures,” Kilgharrah interjected from his own perch, leaning down for a closer look at Yvain. “Hello, little prince.”

“Greetings, dragon,” Yvain answered politely, seemingly delighted at being addressed by a creature of magic and completely unafraid of a creature a thousand times his size.

“My name is Kilgharrah.”

“And my name is Yvain, it’s a pleasure you meet you, my lord.”

Merlin hid his smile, thoroughly inappropriate for the direness of the situation, but his son was ridiculously adorable as he introduced himself to the Great Dragon as if he were meeting some common nobleman. Kilgharrah must have taken a likening to Yvain for he bestowed what could pass for a smile on Yvain. Turning away from the sight of his tiny son making friends with an enormous dragon, Merlin concentrated on the problem at hand. “Can they be killed?”

Gaius shook his head. “Legends say that the only way to stop the knights of Medhir is to kill whomever is animating the knights. They are not alive, Merlin, therefore they cannot be killed. You must find whoever cast the spell that brought them back to this world.”

“And kill them.” Merlin closed his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands into them. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time he would have to kill someone to protect those he loved. “All right, I’ll go--”

“No! Papa! Don’t go.” Yvain flung himself at his legs, arms wrapped around one of his thighs, magical creature completely forgotten. Head tilted back, small face pleading and scared, every ounce of delight from meeting the dragon now erased.

Merlin melted down to hug his son tight. “I don’t want to leave you alone, but you heard Gaius. Those things can’t be killed and your father doesn’t know. I have to go help him.”

Yvain sniffled, obviously biting back tears and nodded as he tightened his hold for one long moment before pulling away. “You need to help Father.”

Merlin mimicked his nod, blinking away his own tears at the brave face Yvain had donned. He stood, but did not immediately leave. He didn’t want to leave Yvain without some kind of comfort and without a first line of defense. His mind whirled before settling on a spell, eyes searching for a suitable rock. Once found, he placed the rock down by the entrance to the cavern. He could feel his magic happily surge as he formed the creature with his mind and magic, fed his magic his intentions and his wants to call forth what he needed.

Seconds later, a Cú Faoil hound grew from the rock. White as the rock had been, the top of its head reaching just about the height of Merlin’s shoulder. Long, lean muscles built for guarding under a shaggy coat, or so the stories Merlin had read about the animal had said. While they were unheard of in Camelot, Gaius had books that had spoken of them as guardians to families and livestock in other kingdoms. Despite its large size, its dark eyes were kind as it looked at him, then it’s surroundings.

Gaius had backed away from it; Morgana and Gwen had not hefted their weapons, but they too had stepped away. Only Yvain remained close, his eyes now fastened upon the hound.

Merlin held out his hand, beckoning the creature. He smiled as it sniffed his hand and ducked under it, clearly asking to be scratched. He was so glad his spell had infused the correct intentions into the animal as he petted and scratched it. He guided Yvain forward, watching carefully as the dog lowered its massive head to snuffle at Yvain’s hair. 

Yvain giggled, small hands reaching up to gently pat the dog’s face.

“Guard him well,” he said quietly.

The hound lifted its head and stared straight into his eyes. It almost seemed to nod before returning its attention back to Yvain.

Merlin glanced back at the other three, nodding at them. Morgana and Gwen both nodded back, hefting their weapons. Gaius called Yvain to him, holding him close, carefully examining Merlin’s handiwork. Lastly, he looked up at the dragon.

_I will watch over them, young warlock. Go save your prince._

_Thank you, Great Dragon._

~*~*~*~*~*~

Thankfully, hiding himself from the invaders was much simpler than hiding the five of them. Merlin moved through the halls easily under a spell that diverted searching eyes; neither friend nor foe saw him. He saw more and more of those dark knights, never sure if it was the same ones or different ones. He prayed that Gaius was right and that there were only seven of them. He stumbled onto Uther and his men first. The king was fighting viciously against the invaders, cutting a swath through their ranks, but two of the knights of Medhir had found him, slowly, methodically making their way through Camelot’s ranks towards the king.

Merlin cursed quietly, quickly thinking of then discarding spells. He couldn’t magic the entire lot of Uther and his men away from Medhir’s knights, he couldn’t even magically enhance their weapons like he did with the griffin. 

“Retreat!” Uther ordered, pulling and pushing his men away from the dark creatures. “Retreat! Our weapons are useless against them! Retreat!”

Merlin let out a sigh of relief. This he could help with. A slash of his hand, the words to a favorite spell on his lips, and lightning struck the two knights, stopping them long enough for the king and his men to retreat. He stayed a mere moment longer to make sure the dark creatures were disabled, though he knew it was not for long. Letting out another breath, he raced through the castle, muttering a searching spell, following along the thin, golden thread that finally led him to Arthur.

His lover and his friends were outside the castle’s walls, facing down the rest of the knights of Medhir and a handful of the invading army. 

They fought with their backs to bales of hay, Lucan perched on the pile, raining arrows down upon their attackers. Lamorak’s war hammer, Tristan’s mace, and Bors’ battle axe whirled through the air, cutting down enemy soldiers but served as a mere distraction to the knight of Medhir they were fighting. Gareth, Kay, and Bedivere worked together, attacking another of the dark knights, Gareth’s daggers winked in the sunlight against the longer steel of Kay and Bedivere’s swords. A third Medhir knight was fought by Geraint, Renault, and Elyan, the three men acting as one as they struck and parried and shielded each other from the knight’s blows. Percival, Gwaine, Leon, Lancelot surrounded Arthur, fighting by his side, swords and shields flashing as they all battled against human and magical creature alike. 

Merlin slipped along the wall, staying well away from any weapon, until he reached the edges of the fighting. Knowing better than to just appear beside battling warriors, he released the spell that kept eyes from him. “Arthur!”

His lover immediately turned, his men instantly moving to cover him as Arthur surged towards Merlin, eyes firmly on anyone that might get near them. With a quick thrust, Arthur dispatched the last of their human attackers, leaving only the creatures called by dark magic.

Arthur, despite being battle-weary, looked furious. “Merlin! You were to stay with Yvain!”

“They’re safe,” Merlin shot back, glancing around before calling down another bolt of lightning, halting the attack of the knights of Medhir enough to give Arthur’s men a bit of a reprieve. 

“What are those things?” Gwaine burst out, shaking his shaggy, sweat-laden hair out of his eyes. “Our weapons barely scratch them!”

“The knights of Medhir,” Merlin answered, calling down more lightning each time one of the dark knights seemed to recuperate from the last bolt. He quickly told them what Gaius had told him about the creation of those knights. “The only way to stop them is to kill the magic user who called them from their sleep.”

Arthur, and several of his men, gave him incredulous looks. “And how are we supposed to find a single sorcerer in all of this mess?”

“I might know,” Gareth murmured. The young knight was one of Arthur’s quieter men and not prone to flights of fancy, so when he spoke, they listened. “I saw Morgause and a man by the throne room.” He turned to Merlin. “His eyes flashed like hers.”

Like yours, he did not say. Merlin nodded and turned to Arthur, but did not have to say a word.

“So, Morgause or this sorcerer?” Leon asked. “One of them is powering the spell?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes, but which one?”

“It doesn’t matter; we kill them both,” Arthur ordered as he passed Merlin his shield, freeing his hand to lace their fingers together. “To the throne room.”

Merlin rolled his eyes but obediently kept the shield up to cover them both, letting Arthur tug him behind so that he was covered by armoured knights in every direction. “You realized I got here all by myself, right? Without you and your knights protecting me?”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur threw that over his shoulder, completely without heat, almost absentmindedly.

Merlin rolled his eyes yet again, sending another flash of lightning to stop the knights of Medhir from following them. Thankfully, they met none of the dark creatures nor invaders on their way to the throne room. Most likely because they were all in the throne room, guarding Morgause and the other sorcerer.

Arthur grabbed his shield, using his own body to hide Merlin, hissing quietly, “Go, use the spell that hid you from enemy eyes, find the sorcerer.”

Merlin cast the spell then slipped off to the edges of the throne room, hugging walls, eyes carefully assessing all the fighters. Gareth had described the sorcerer as a blond man, bearded but with heavier growth around the chin and mouth. He searched for the man Gareth described but every man was fighting. There was no man obviously being protected by others. The only one not fighting was Morgause, protected by the ring of Medhir knights surrounding her. Arthur and his knights fought to get at Morgause, but the dark knights stood between them.

The battle was short and brutal. Fatal for those under Morgause and her partner as Arthur’s knights cut through the invaders, their skills far above the skills of those that Morgause had brought. Soon almost all of the human invaders were dead, but the knights of Medhir remained. 

“Alvarr! We’re losing!” Morgause screamed. 

“Forbærne yfel!” 

A ring of fire erupted around Lancelot, the man he fought, the _sorcerer_ he fought jerking away towards Arthur.

Merlin put out the fire, racing along the walls, trying to keep Alvarr in sight as the other sorcerer dodged and weaved amongst the still fighting knights of Camelot and Medhir.

Merlin ignored the clash of steel, the screams of men, focusing all of his power on stopping any magical attacks from Morgause and the man she called Alvarr. It was hard as hell to battle two sorcerers without revealing himself, but he had plenty of practice before he had revealed himself to Arthur and their friends. Logs from the fireplace mysteriously jumped from the fire and into the paths of the two sorcerers, banners fell and obscured their eyes, but try as he might, he could not get a clean window of opportunity to send a killing spell at either of them.

In the end, he didn’t need to.

“Ástríce!” Merlin cast, flinging Alvarr into the wall. 

The sorcerer jumped back to his feet but Arthur was already there, sword thrust deep into Alvarr’s stomach. Once he fell, the knights of Medhir stilled in mid-strike, no longer animated now that the sorcerer powering them was dead.

“Damn you, Pendragon!” Morgause whirled and was gone.

Camelot’s knights seemed to be stunned at the abrupt victory, their weapons and shields still upheld and ready for the next strike. One by one, they began to relax as they realized the threat against Camelot had been stopped.

“Is it over?” Gwaine broke the sudden silence, head swiveling to search out another threat.

“Looks like it,” Leon said, finally lowering his sword and shield, letting his body sag against a nearby pillar now that the danger was over.

Many of the other knights sighed in relief, sheathing their weapons as well.

“Merlin,” Arthur’s voice was imperious, but he heard something in it, a shaking note. 

Merlin was already moving, hurrying to Arthur when his lover listed to one side. Now that the fighting was over, he could see how Arthur favored his right side. Catching him, struggling under his bulk, he squawked, “Help! Percival! Lamorak!”

The two knights easily caught Arthur’s armoured weight, supporting their prince.

“We need Gaius,” Merlin said, examining the wound. “Get him to his room.”

“Yvain,” Arthur refuted immediately, shaking his head stubbornly.

“I’ll get him when I get Gaius, they’re together,” Merlin assured him, pressing a quick kiss to Arthur’s sweat-laden brow. 

“No, I go with you,” Arthur obstinately insisted, his eyes daring any of them – Merlin included – to deny him.

All of the knights had their eyes on him, of course leaving him with the final decision. Merlin rolled his eyes then knelt on one knee to get a better look at the wound. It wasn’t deep and it had already stopped bleeding. “All right, fine,” he grumbled, “but first.” He untied his neckerchief, folding it into a square and pressing it against Arthur’s wound. His lover grunted but held still as Merlin worked to keep the makeshift bandage in place. 

“Leon, take men and make sure the castle is secure. Find my father and his men, help them.”

Leon wavered, obviously wanting to go with them, to see that Morgana was safe, but his duty was to Arthur.

“I’ll go, Arthur. Renault, Kay, Gareth and Lucan can come with me.” Tristan nodded his head at Leon’s thankful smile, winking. His offer was unsurprising; the three of them had been thick as thieves since they were children, always covering for one another. Tristan led his party out, leaving the majority of Arthur’s knights with them.

Arthur turned to him expectantly.

Merlin muttered a spell to lighten all of Arthur’s armour and weapons so that Arthur could stand under his own power, leaving Percival and Lamorak free to fall into formation with the rest of the knights. He held onto Arthur as he guided their party down towards the dragon’s lair. He carefully cleared his throat. “Just so you know, I was going to tell you about this.”

“About what, Merlin?” Arthur drew out his name in that way that made Merlin itch to punch him. The suspicious looks weren’t helping either.

“With everything that has happened, it slipped my mind. Understandable, really, since I don’t speak to him much anymore. He’s kind of untrustworthy even though he’s been helpful some of the time,” he rambled, refusing to look at Arthur even though his lover was now blatantly staring at him.

“Who, Merlin?” It was Arthur’s demanding voice. Not the demanding voice that made him sound like a prat. No, this was the demanding voice that made him sound like a king.

Merlin sighed, forcing himself to meet his lover’s eyes. “The Great Dragon.”

Arthur stopped dead and stared. So did everyone else, mouths parted, eyes wide. Merlin winced, ducking his head under their scrutiny.

“Merlin,” Leon asked carefully, slowly. “Did you say ‘dragon’?”

“Yes?”

“Unbelievable.” Arthur shook his head, rolled his eyes, and pushed Merlin into moving. “Explain, now.”

So Merlin told them everything about Kilgharrah he knew, answering the few questions the knights had. Arthur asked nothing, but he still held onto Merlin’s hand and didn’t look too angry. He curled around Arthur’s arm, trying to keep his weight supporting, not leaning, against his lover. “I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly. “I didn’t mean to keep him a secret.”

Arthur huffed, exasperation written in every line of his face and body. “Merlin, sometimes I think you’re made of nothing but affection, clumsiness, magic, and secrets.” 

Arthur’s fingers tightened on his, making Merlin smile. “I love you too, you prat.”

Arthur gave a mock growl and nipped at his ear.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Arthur nearly skewered the Cú Faoil hound when it growled and lunged at him.

“No!” 

“Father, no!”

Merlin threw up a quick shield between man and dog. He may have created it from an inanimate object, but it was a living creature now. He did not want either of them to hurt the other.

Yvain threw his arms around the dog’s neck, standing on his tip-toes, barely able to reach until the dog dipped it’s head down. “Father, you almost hurt him!” he sternly admonished, petting the animal until it calmed and sat down, sharp eyes assessing Arthur and his knights. 

“ _I_ nearly hurt him?” Arthur said dumbly, staring at the enormous creature curling around his son. 

“Cadfael was just protecting us.” Yvain hugged the canine once more before transferring his affections to his father. “I’m glad you’re all right, Father.”

Arthur carefully cupped his son’s head with his still gauntlet-covered hand, smiling down at him. “Thank you, Yvain.”

Leon and Lancelot moved around them to catch Morgana and Gwen in their arms. Elyan pressed a hand onto his sister’s shoulder before helping Gaius to his feet. 

No one noticed the dragon until he blew a huff of hot air over them, then Arthur and his knights stared up at the creature. The men instinctively clutched at their swords and shields, Leon and Lancelot immediately putting themselves between the dragon and their ladies. Arthur’s eyes widened, reflexively clutching Yvain closer, covering him with his own body as he stared up at the Great Dragon.

Before Merlin could calm them all down, the Great Dragon spoke.

“Prince Arthur, a pleasure to meet you,” Kilgharrah said pleasantly. 

Arthur, for once in his life, seemed lost for words.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“No, Father, please, may I keep him?” Yvain begged again, arms clenched tight around the canine’s neck. 

Merlin had barely a second to raise his hand before their son latched onto the animal and began begging to be allowed to keep it. 

“Please, Father? I want Cadfael to stay, please?” Tears threatened to leak as soon as Arthur told Merlin to magic the dog back to wherever it had come from.

Arthur was useless against their son’s tears, everyone knew this. Arthur might grumble and put up a fight, but he always, always gave in. Especially because Yvain asked for very little. Unlike his own father at that age, Yvain was completely unspoiled and so sweet. Presenting Yvain with things he truly wanted always made the giver feel amazing; especially when Yvain gifted them his sweetest thanks in return.

Merlin threw up his hands in surrender at the look Arthur sent him. “I created him to be the first line of defense in case someone or some _thing_ came down here. I didn’t know Yvain was going to get attached so quickly,” he confessed quietly.

Arthur blew an exasperated sigh, glaring at his men when they all rushed to hide smiles and smirks.

They were of no help whatsoever.

“Oh, just let him keep it, Arthur,” Morgana urged, smiling wickedly when Arthur glared at her.

“He’s already named it,” Gwaine pointed out, dancing away when Arthur swung out with his shield in retaliation.

“I’ve read of these dogs,” Lancelot murmured, kneeling to carefully study the Cú Faoil hound, gingerly offering his hand for Cadfael to sniff. “They are very loyal, good at hunting and guarding.”

“Please, Father?” Yvain batted nearly transparent blond lashes at his father, tears glistening in his blue eyes, rosebud of a mouth set in the tiniest of pouts. The boy clearly sensed victory as he delivered his final blow: his face pressed up against the dog’s, head tilted slightly down, eyes wide and so sad, looking so ridiculously adorable Merlin could barely stand it.

Arthur caved so fast Morgana had to swiftly bury her face in Leon’s shoulder, her whole body -shaking with laughter. She wasn’t the only one.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Part II

~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 6

 

The feast for Yvain’s seventh birthday was nothing like the feast of the previous year. 

There was no treacherous sorcerer revealed to the horror and entertainment of the court, but neither was there any joy or laughter. Food was consumed, wine was shared and imbibed aplenty, but nearly no one spoke. The first sets of performing troupes had tried, but their audience had only politely clapped, and barely that, to their disappointment. After that, none of the other hired entertainers had even bothered. Except a set of cloaked and hooded musicians who played slow, melancholy tunes that only served to heighten the atmosphere of depression. 

Uther forced himself not to order their ejection from his hall, for as depressing as the melodies were, they covered the otherwise oppressive silence that filled the Great Hall.

Yvain sat unnaturally still beside Arthur, playing with his food, pausing only to eat a small bite here and there. Arthur did not even try to go through the motions of eating, merely sitting like a statue, staring at the assembly, but seeing nothing. Both of their faces were stony masks, both nodding and bestowing polite, distant smiles to anyone who dared to meet their eyes. Vastly different than the laughing, clapping, joyous princes he knew they could be. Morgana hadn’t even deigned to join them, citing her woman’s monthly time. He knew that to be a lie for the hoyden had never let that time of the month stop her from beating Arthur at swords even when she first received it. Members of the court tried, truly many of them did, but none of their wit nor their talents were able to break the miserable pall that loomed over the entire proceedings.

Uther was half tempted to order his grandson to enjoy his birthday feast, but he knew it would be useless. Even months after he had ordered all of their things burned, hoping that whatever hold the sorcerer had on his son and grandson would be broken once the physical anchor had been destroyed, neither Arthur nor Yvain had returned to their normal selves. Neither of them spoke to him unless directly addressed, answers were monosyllabic and coldly abrupt. Morgana avoided him at all cost and spoke to him even less, choosing to send messages via the pages only when he demanded answers regarding the running of the castle from her. 

He thought perhaps it was that giant canine that was the anchor, the source of the spell that kept his family distant and enthralled, that the dog was the sorcerer’s familiar or perhaps the sorcerer had the ability to shapeshift into the animal. But, no, the dog had not been seen in months even though many men still hunted for it, wanting the bounty he had set upon its head. Surely that was enough time for whatever hold the sorcerer had on his family to die? The question of what had affected his family so, continued to plague his mind, cropping up when all of his duties had been seen to, even in the dead of the night, disturbing his needed sleep.

Finally, finally, the musicians stopped their maudlin playing, but the deafening silence was even worse. The musicians slowly walked up the long main aisle, bowing respectfully to the royal family.

Uther cleared his throat, knowing he would have to give some sort of praise, mind even going so far as to ask them to continue as the silence was so very terrible. But the words froze in his throat when the female musician lifted her head and threw back the hood of her cloak. The sorceress from the siege!

“Morgause,” Arthur breathed, instantly rising, hand already drawing his sword. “GUARDS!”

The sorceress lashed out, ensnaring Arthur and Yvain in a net made of lightening. The man beside her magically flung the guards and knights away from them even as the woman dragged Arthur and Yvain ever closer. 

Uther ignored the fighting, stabbing at the net, but his sword never touched it.

“Foolish king, killing your only magical protection,” she cackled, hands dancing in the air, eyes gleaming a cold, reddish gold. In a flash of blinding light, the sorcerers were gone.

But so were Arthur and Yvain.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Deep beneath the land, magic stirred.

Woken by screams of pain and anguish from the Once and Future King, ripped from slumber as the king railed and fought against the bindings that held him, Albion was horrified at the misused magic that tortured the child prince.

The magic of Albion unfurled, sending this tendril of information to the king’s sorcerer.

Buried in the land of his birth, the sorcerer sluggishly opened his eyes, staring up at the wooden ceiling of his coffin. He had seen this coffin fit for a prince in his dreams, had seen his lover and his son, his mother and his friends, crying as they carefully buried him in the hillside near Ealdor, in the land claimed by Camelot, so that Arthur and Yvain could always visit him. He had seen Uther trying to purge him from Arthur and Yvain’s lives. Had seen how his lover and his son became more and more despondent, still heartbroken by his death. 

At first, when he realized that the magic of Albion had saved him, was slowly healing his body, he had been so happy he would not have to leave Arthur and Yvain. But relief turned to rage against Albion and her magic when he realized that while his body might be slowly healing in the ground, his soul, his magic still lingered in the world, but was completely unable to interact with Arthur, Yvain, or even his mother. Albion had only let him watch, a useless observer to all of the pain his death had caused his family and friends. 

Months and months went by, time was meaningless to Merlin or the magic, but he could see the time etched on his family’s faces. He ached to rejoin them. To hold Arthur and Yvain in his arms, to soothe away their broken hearts, to hold and be held in his mother’s arms once more. Ached to protect them from the magical threats he could feel building. But the magic refused to let him go, even though it had already healed the deadly wound. 

_“Wait,”_ Albion’s magic had whispered, _“wait until the old king dies, wait for your Once and Future King.”_

It promised to teach him even stronger magics, spells and enchantments that would help him protect those he loved more effectively. And so he was content to wait, to study and learn. To slumber in this strange state between life and death.

But now he could wait no longer. 

Thankfully, the magic knew it could not keep him there, releasing his body from its dormant state. A wave of his hand vanished the coffin’s lid, the dirt, and grass above. He levitated himself out of his grave, breathing in the fresh air, looking up at the sun, seeing Ealdor spread out below him. His reunion with his mother would have to wait as he spread his magic and his senses reached. He could sense her, safe and working in their home, one of the town’s women with her, both of them sewing. His magic spread further, trying to find where Morgause had taken his husband and child. 

Merlin growled when he realized he could not sense them. A very powerful blocking spell hid them from him; Morgause had to be working with an entire coven of witches or warlocks for this kind of power. Knowing of only one way to find Arthur and Yvain, despite any spell, powerful or not, Merlin transformed into his namesake and took flight towards Camelot.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Scouts, spies, knights, guards, barons and allies alike had found nothing of Arthur nor Yvain. Three days now since his son and grandson had been taken from this very hall and absolutely nothing could be found of them. Nor hide or hair of the sorceress that dared to take them. 

Uther stared blindly down at the map of Camelot and its surrounding neighbors. Messengers had been sent to the surrounding kingdoms, even to the ones with whom Camelot had hostile relationships, asking that they search their own lands for the missing princes. Around him, barons and council members spoke urgently about their next avenue of investigation, where next to send men to search. The only one not speaking was Gaius, looking even older than his numerous years as he too stared at the map.

Sir Leon, who had only just returned with the rest of Arthur’s men, was now quickly consuming his mid-day meal after reporting in from their designated quadrant. But even while eating he would stop and offer his own advice and expertise. He and Arthur’s men were already preparing themselves to ride out and continue the search for their princes, their voices could be heard as they called out orders to squires and servants in the courtyard below. They had only come back to report their findings and to be assigned a new quadrant. 

Uther slumped in his seat, the words the sorceress had taunted him with echoing in his mind. While he knew he should be listening to his council members and their plans, all he could think about were her last words to him. What had she meant by his ‘only magical protection’? He needed no magical protection, the mere idea that he or his family needed magical protection was preposterous! Sword and shield were all he had ever needed to vanquish the evil that was magic. He had reluctantly asked Gaius, demanded the answer from him simply to prove that her claim was indeed outrageous, but the old man had been stone-faced and did not answer. 

Morgana had not been so reticent.  
 _  
“You killed Merlin,” she sneered in answer, giving him a mocking curtsey. “Just like you killed every other magic user you could find. Even though he was the only protection we had against sorcerers like Morgause and Nimueh.”_

_“He was nothing but a treacherous sorcerer, a crime punishable by death in Camelot!” he had roared back, anger feeding the pain of his son and grandson’s loss._

_“And that was enough, wasn’t it, your majesty?” Morgana scoffed, insulting him with her tone and the use of his title. “It did not matter that he had never hurt anyone in his life. It did not matter one wit that all he had ever done was to protect Arthur and Yvain from the enemies that you made!”_

_“He has bewitched you,” Uther ground out, motioning for the guards. “Take her to her rooms, lock her in.”_

_His secret daughter seared the men with a scathing glare. “Do not touch me,” she hissed before spinning on her heel and leaving._

He would not, could not, accept a word of what she said. After all, the sorcerer had ensorcelled her and she knew not of what she was saying. Her words meant nothing, she had been enthralled by the magic user to think he was protecting them when all the while the sorcerer worked to undermine his authority, to undermine everything Camelot stood for. 

Uther pushed Morgana from his mind, focusing on his missing child and grandchild rather than the willful one safely in her chambers.

A strong gust of wind jerked him from his thoughts as it blew through the heavy oak doors, slamming them opening, swishing papers and causing quills to spin through the air. Irritated cries rang out as people were poked and prodded with flying objects, surprised bewilderment coloring all of their voices.

Uther, like everyone in the room, shielded his face with upraised arms, blinking furiously to see. A man was walking calming through the rushing wind, bothered by neither the fast moving air nor by the airborne objects. When he saw the ghost, when his mind processed what he was seeing, his hands immediately reached for his sword, but he froze mid-motion, unable to move.

“Merlin,” Gaius breathed, shakily rising to his feet, expression between elation and awe.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 7

Uther so desperately wanted to charge at the sorcerer, to once more deliver a killing blow, but he could not move. “Guards!” he screamed, but from their struggles, the same invisible force holding him captive held them as well.

The sorcerer walked unencumbered into the room, eyes glowing gold with the power of his magic, but mere moments after he stepped to the middle of the Great Hall, he was surrounded by Arthur’s men. Leon had jumped up from his seat at the table; the others were swarming in from behind the sorcerer.

Uther felt relief swell up, only to have it dashed to pieces when first Sir Leon, then his own nephew, then one by one the others gripped the sorcerer in a warm hug, greeting him with bright smiles and a few unshed but present tears. The shock was so great he could not even speak. Arthur’s loyal men, Camelot’s finest knights, had seen with their own eyes the sorcerer using magic but . . . no weapons were drawn, no fear or anger in any of their eyes. They welcomed him back as a long lost brother.

Gaius, loyal friend for so long, was slowly walking towards the sorcerer, tears in his eyes, face more animated than Uther had seen in a long time. “My boy,” the old physician murmured.

“Gaius.” The sorcerer carefully gathered Gaius into his arms, the hands he had placed on Gaius’ back suddenly aglow.

Gaius gasped, but instead of jerking away from the magic like he should, he stood straighter and taller, as if age and the aches and pains that came with it had suddenly vanished. He had wonder on his face. “Merlin, how did you?”

“The magic of Albion had much to teach me while it healed my body.”

 _‘What? Magic of Albion?’_ Uther’s mind whirled madly, futilely trying to understand what the sorcerer meant by those words.

“But how?” Gaius wondered in awe.

“It doesn’t matter right now, Gaius.” The sorcerer shook his head, placating expression on his face being replaced by something harder, mixed with concern. “Arthur and Yvain. Morgause took them, she has them?”

Gaius nodded, face falling. Arthur’s knights lost every ounce of joy and happiness that had suffused their faces and bodies.

“Merlin!” Morgana was running pell mell into the hall, skirts hoydenishly hiked above her knees to get them out of her way. Her face was all at once excited, relieved, and amazed. Her handmaiden was much the same, dogging her rushing strides.

Uther jerked his head, the only part of his body that could still move. “Morgana! No!”

His rebellious daughter spared him not a single glance as she threw herself into the sorcerer’s arms. Her handmaiden stood beside her, nearly vibrating with happiness, smile enormously wide and bouncing on her toes. She finally lost patience and firmly, but respectfully, nudged her lady out of her way to get her own hug from the sorcerer.

They had all gone mad. There was no other explanation. 

“Merlin,” Morgana demanded his attention breathlessly, but imperiously, leaning back against his arms, sharing his embrace with her maid. “Arthur and Yvain--”

He nodded, face falling from his welcoming smile into a worried frown. “I tried to find them but whatever spell Morgause is using is blocking all of my efforts. There’s only one way to find them now.”

“How?” Leon asked, not even bothering to hide his eagerness to do the sorcerer’s bidding. “Whatever you need we will find it.”

All of Arthur’s knights nodded their assent, all of them offering to ride immediately for any necessary components. Gaius too was already offering the meager contents of his laboratory, slowly being replenished after being destroyed.

The sorcerer shook his head at all of the offers, those glowing gold eyes finally turning on him. “The blood of their kin.”

The sorcerer’s words rang in his ears, blood rushing to his head, dizzying and terrifying. A choice. The sorcerer was demanding a choice. His son and grandson or his own life. Uther swallowed bile and anger, glared his hatred at the magic user. Just like Nimueh, a life for a life, stealing what didn’t belong to them. 

“You would dare to kill me?” he taunted the sorcerer, trying to show Arthur’s men the danger the creature posed. _‘See!’_ he wanted to shout, _‘See how he demands my life in payment!’_

The wizard had the temerity to roll his eyes. “Please,” he scoffed, lip lifting into a sneer. “I need two drops – one for each missing Pendragon. Is that too much to ask for your son and grandson?”

His mouth dropped opened when he realized that Arthur’s knights were turning their faces away to hide _smiles_ and that Morgana didn’t bother hiding hers at all.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Merlin watched with barely concealed impatience as Leon and the rest of their friends loaded up Gaius’ wagon with the necessary supplies.

The potion, imbued with his magic and two drops of Uther’s blood, pinpointed Arthur and Yvain’s location as deep inside Cenred’s kingdom. While Uther had spit vitriol regarding his treacherous ally, Merlin’s only thought had been that, once he safely retrieved his husband and son, he was going to ensure that Cenred’s kingdom would fall to the might of Camelot. It would nicely ensure his mother’s safety as well. 

But now, he impatiently and dispassionately watched from the courtyard steps as Leon and Morgana directed servants to load Gaius’ medicines and the supplies needed for the long journey to and back from where Morgause and Cenred were keeping Arthur and Yvain. He could have told them to save themselves the trouble, that he was going to magic them to and fro, because he would die again before letting his family stay in Morgause’s clutches for one more day. Instead, he allowed them the time to prepare themselves, knowing that the questions -- and the objections from Uther -- that would arise would be forestalled if he just let them do what they wanted. He also knew that he could not just go alone, that Camelot could not solely rely on his magic. The kingdom and all of her enemies and allies had to know that Camelot was protected by both sword and magic. That her knights, her king, were every bit as formidable as her sorcerer.

The only reason he hadn’t magicked them all there right this instant was because the magic had told him that Morgause was having her sorcerers heal Yvain so that she could start his torture all over again. His son’s body was whole once more, his mind unconscious and free from pain. The moment Morgause even tried to touch him again, Merlin would damn Uther and his sensibilities to hell and transport them however he wished.

Uther argued with Morgana about her and Gwen’s attire. Both women back in breeches and leather with swords strapped to their belts, much like when they came with him and Arthur to defend Ealdor from bandits. He smiled softly at his friends in memory.

Finally, finally, they were all done.

“Merlin?”

He looked down to see Gwaine holding the reins to, not only his own horse, but also the mare that Arthur had gifted to Merlin that last winter. Merlin smiled at Gwaine, stepping down to pet the mare, but shook his head. “Another steed awaits me.”

Gwaine stared at him long and hard, but then nodded, tossing the reins to one of the squires with instructions to see to her care and stabling.

Merlin barely noticed. Instead, he began walking out of the castle, aware, but not caring that his friends and Uther were scrambling to keep up. Not caring that his magic was displayed for all to see as he glided above the ground, moving faster than Arthur’s fastest horse. He could hear the wagon wheels clattering along the cobblestones under Gaius’ expert hands. The horses’ hooves beat against the ground, eating up the earth as they followed him. 

They reached him on the edge of the forest where he stood stock still, face uplifted to the trees and the sunshine.

“What the devil are you waiting for?” Uther demanded, all bluster and sound.

Merlin did not answer him, but the forest did, for it fell into a reverent hush. So did the men and women behind him. Even Uther had clamped his mouth shut, eyes carefully scanning the forest. They all twisted and turned, looking for the source when they heard the sound of hooves, lighter and clearer than any horse in their retinue.

Morgana and Gwen both gasped when the pure white unicorn emerged from the forest. Several of the men even made murmurs of appreciation at its beauty. Thankfully, no one was stupid enough to reach for a weapon as the majestic creature came to a stop before Merlin.

“Thank you for coming,” he murmured as he reached up to smooth his hand over the unicorn’s moist muzzle. 

The unicorn whickered, moving to affectionately nuzzle and whuff against his hair.

Merlin mounted himself easily on the back of the unicorn, comfortable despite having neither reins nor saddle, thanks to his magic. He turned back to his friends, seeing shock and amazement on their face. Uther, of course, was glaring.

“Follow me,” he instructed, with a gleam of mischief in his eyes and voice. “I know a faster way.”

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 8

Uther desperately wanted to shake the feel of the magic wrapped around him. 

One moment they were in the familiar forests around the castle, his stronghold rising majestically behind them, the next they were riding in forests he did not recognize. Behind him, Arthur’s men did not seem bothered one wit, riding grimly towards their prince. Ahead, the sorcerer rode the unicorn, sparing them not a single glance.

Silence ruled until the sorcerer abruptly stopped, tilting his head. 

“Merlin?” Sir Leon asked quietly, eyes scanning. The rest of Arthur’s men were just as alert, hands tightening on weapons, each man facing a different direction, carefully watching their surroundings for threats.

“They are close, due west.” 

It was all he had to say. Arthur’s men were well trained, immediately dismounting and preparing themselves. Uther was astonished to see how they trusted the sorcerer, taking his word, never once questioning him from the moment he reappeared in the castle. He could do nothing but watch as they made camp, stationing guards around the perimeter, sketching out a plan of attack. All of it while consulting with the sorcerer, but never once asking their king for his thoughts.

Uther wondered about when it all began to slip away. When had Arthur turned from him? When did his own son start to trust a magic user more than he trusted his father? And perhaps, most importantly, why? He knew it had to be Arthur who precipitated his knights’ acceptance of the sorcerer’s magic. That it was only with Arthur’s expressed permission in the past that allowed the knights to follow Merlin so easily now.

He busied his hands with his sword and shield as he thought about the possible answers, but pushed them all aside when he saw Arthur’s men moving into the forest. He knew better than to follow. His own men, the scant few that were ready in time, would never let their king anywhere near the fighting, not with both Arthur and Yvain gone. The line of succession must be kept for the safety of all of Camelot.

It seemed like days before one of the foot soldiers that had gone with Arthur’s men came skidding back into camp. Morgana, her maid, and Gaius immediately abandoned their chores, surging towards him. Uther pushed them all aside.

“Well?” he demanded.

“We need more men!” the soldier exclaimed, turning on his heel and running back from whence he came.

Morgana and her maid jumped to follow him, Uther right behind them. He did not even bother trying to tell Morgana to stay in camp, since fruitless his words would be. He glared silent directions at his men; they immediately moved into a protective formation around both him and Morgana, and her maid by default.

The clash of steel against steel was the first sound he heard, then the shouting of men. He felt the crackle of air that screamed power and magic. He nearly faltered, but forced himself to move towards it, towards his son and grandson. It seemed as if half of Cenred’s army was there, many dead at the feet of Camelot’s men, but many were still attacking, still standing between Camelot and their princes.

Uther paused at the threshold of the battlefield, horrified. Men dying in battle was a common sight for the battle-hardened king. The sight of his son, his grandson, strapped to altars like sacrificial lambs was not. Arthur was straining towards Yvain, cording his muscles as he fought against his bindings, tears of rage and terror in his eyes. Yvain, his poor grandson, lay limp and unconscious on another altar with bleeding wounds, broken bones, cuts and sores. 

The dried tracks of tears on Yvain’s cheeks spurring him on, Uther plunged headlong into combat, fighting side-by-side with Morgana, his men and her maid at their backs and sides. Sword swinging, shield deflecting blows, thrust, parry, cut down one enemy only to face another. Uther fought until exhaustion pulled at him, but days of worry and helplessness fueled him, anger kept his sword singing through air, steel, and flesh.

He could feel the moment the tide of battle turned in their favor; refused to acknowledge that it came with a burst of magic. Finally, endless moments later, Cenred’s army fell. The coward himself riding off the battleground like demons were nipping at his heels.

“Capture him,” Uther ordered coldly, watching with pride as his men shook off the exhaustion and spurred their horses after the fleeing king.

Uther turned in time to see the sorcerer bring down a tremendous bolt of lightning.

Morgause deflected it, sending one of her own. Two unknown sorcerers fought by her side, throwing their own spelled attacks at him. Arthur’s sorcerer fought them all off, sending such powerful spells Uther could only stand and watch in awe. He knew he would never be able to kill this sorcerer again, not with such power at his command.

With a final, dazzling, fear-inducing clash of spells, Morgause and her sorcerers lay dead at Merlin’s feet.

The silence rang loudly. Nothing moved, not even the air itself.

The stillness was broken by Merlin, moving towards the two altars. With a flick of his fingers, he freed Arthur, stopping only long enough to brush a fleeting kiss against a stunned Arthur’s lips. But then he moved on, towards Yvain. Uther instantly moved towards his son, helping him up. He forced himself not to feel hurt when Arthur pushed him away.

Arthur’s controlled fall off of the altar ended with him staggering to his feet, still pushing Uther away. His eyes, burning with fear, burning with hope, never left his sorcerer. Arthur still looked stunned, face filled with amazement, with such aching love, that Uther had to look away. He stared at what the sorcerer was doing instead of facing the truth regarding his son and how he looked at the sorcerer. He had seen that look, once upon a time, in a mirror.

Merlin stood above Yvain, his hands a scant distance above the small, shattered body, glowing, just like the wounds on Yvain’s body, highlighting every cut, every bruise. One by one, they were healed, until nothing but smooth, unblemished skin remained. No broken bones, no bloody wounds. Yvain was whole and hale again.

Instead of waking though, Yvain remained unconscious. Merlin did not seem worried as he bent, pressing a kiss to his forehead, hand smoothing his now clean hair.

“Merlin?” Arthur whispered the name reverently, face holding hope and gratefulness.

The sorcerer carefully swept Arthur into his side, pressing their foreheads together, holding him tight with one arm, the other still in Yvain’s hair. His voice was quiet. “I need your permission.”

“Yes,” Arthur said immediately, arms looped securely around his lover, face beatific with love as he looked upon Merlin.

A rueful smile spread across Merlin’s mouth. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask.”

“I don’t need to,” Arthur said with such certainty it made Uther highly uncomfortable.

Uther wanted to demand to know what the sorcerer was going to do, but he remained silent. He had already used magic to heal Yvain, there was not much more he could do now. And Uther could see the way he moved to hold Yvain in his arms: the gentleness, the caring tenderness. He had known that the sorcerer would never hurt Arthur or Yvain – control their minds, control Camelot through them, yes – but he would never hurt them.

Merlin nodded slowly, a small smile lingering for just a moment before it slipped away when he turned back to Yvain. His hand hovered over the boy’s head this time. “I’m going to take away the memories of the pain, the anguish he felt.” He swallowed hard, fingers caressing Yvain’s cheek, the bridge of his nose. “I’ll leave his knowledge of the events, so that he knows what happened, but I don’t want his mind scarred so young from the pain.”

Uther stepped forward to protect his grandson, physical spells of healing were one thing, but mental spells that could forever control Yvain were another. He found himself stopped by the flat side of Morgana’s blade, swept up across his chest and blocking his path. He turned his head to give his most stern rebuke, but it fell from his lips at the cold mask on her face. She said not one word, but the way Arthur’s knights shifted between him and the sorcerer said it all. They would not let him interfere; Uther forced himself still and watched.

Arthur nodded, moving so that he did not impede the sorcerer’s work, but stayed extremely close. He pressed their bodies together as if afraid of losing contact with Merlin for even one moment. His hands remained around Merlin’s waist, his chin hooked over his shoulder, watching as Merlin carefully cast spells around Yvain’s head. Moments later, Merlin pulled back, leaning against Arthur’s body. “He’ll wake in a few moments.”

True to his words, Yvain began rousing, moving his arms, shifting his shoulders. The sight of his blinking eyes and leisurely stretching made Uther smile for the first time in days. When Yvain opened his eyes completely, they widened to ridiculous proportions when they landed on Arthur and his sorcerer.

“Papa!” Yvain threw himself into Merlin’s arms.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

It was the work of a mere moment to empty the wagon that Gaius had driven and to transform it into a luxuriously comfortable carriage for Arthur and Yvain. Even though his husband and son had been healed, neither Merlin nor Gaius would allow them on horses for several more days. And truthfully, Merlin did not feel comfortable enough to let them go even so short a distance as the next horse. Arthur and Yvain seemed to feel the same. Even now, half-asleep, head a heavy, solid, loved weight on his shoulder, Yvain refused to let him go, arms and legs wrapped tight around his neck and waist. Arthur hovered over them both, perfunctorily greeting his men, Morgana, and Gwen, but his eyes had stayed on Merlin nearly the entire time. His husband’s hands remained on him or Yvain, never once straying, afraid to let go. Merlin did not mind one bit.

After Yvain had thrown himself into Merlin’s arms, sobbing into his neck, Merlin had clutched his son tight, whispered words of love and reassurance, then spelled him to sleep. He had wanted the mental and physical spells to fully settle before Yvain spent any significant time conscious. He also wanted to be away from this potentially hostile territory, this place where Yvain and Arthur’s pain reverberated in the very land. Where Albion wept for its Once and Future King and his son.

Once the wagon’s transformation was complete, a soft, warm nest covered by a cloth ceiling and walls, Merlin chivvied Arthur into it. His husband offering no protestations whatsoever that spoke more of his exhaustion than anything else could have. 

Arthur kicked off his boots, then settled down. He lay there, face expectant but soft, tired. “Merlin?”

“Here, take Yvain." Merlin carefully peeled his son off his chest . . . or at least he tried. Yvain immediately tightened his hold, rousing unhappily. “Shhhh, sweetheart, I’m here,” he soothed, holding his son close once more.

Arthur, who had been reaching for Yvain, drew back at Merlin’s signal, watching closely, then smiled when Merlin simply magicked himself and Yvain into the carriage and onto the bed. 

Merlin found himself hauled into Arthur’s arms, Yvain nearly crushed between them. “Ease up, you prat, you’re going to squash our son.”

Arthur’s smile was pure sunshine, lighting his eyes. “I’m a prince; you can’t call me a prat.”

Merlin grinned into the kiss Arthur pressed onto his lips.

“I missed you, Merlin,” he whispered brokenly.

“Oh, Arthur.” Merlin cupped his husband’s face, fingertips tracing his fine features for the first time in too long, gazing into blue eyes. He could see the pain in his husband’s eyes, knew it was greater than his own, because while he had missed his husband and child, he had been able to see them, hear them. He had known that he would be able to go back to them, but neither of them had known that, had thought him dead, gone from them until their own deaths. His pain of their absence was nothing in comparison to theirs. “And I you, my husband.”

Arthur moved even closer, pressing their foreheads together, arms wrapped tight around both him and their son. “How?” he asked, words hushed inside the carriage, inside this little space.

As Merlin told him how he came back, Arthur never stopped touching him. Small touches to his cheeks, his neck, his arms; kisses to his lips, his eyes, even the tip of his nose. Merlin basked in Arthur’s love, smiling at his husband, returning every touch, every kiss. He vowed with his very magic to never leave them again.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Merlin woke when the carriage stopped moving, the same lack of movement waking Arthur as well. Yvain, thankfully, remained blissfully asleep.

Arthur lifted one of the flaps and peered outside. “It looks like we’re making camp.”

Merlin nodded, following Arthur out when he slipped down from the carriage after carefully tucking Yvain into the blankets. They both stretched, surveying the knights and soldiers setting up camp for the night. Leon had chosen a clearing with a nearby stream for tonight’s campsite. Uther stood on the outskirts of the site, watching while Morgana and Gwen supervised the men’s work. Gaius was ushering Lucan and Percival to one side, medical supplies already spread out and waiting. They weren’t the only ones with injuries from the battle against Cenred and his army; they were merely the ones Gaius could catch first.

“I wish your father would just let me take us back home,” Merlin groused quietly, sending a small glare at said man.

Arthur twisted towards him, hiding a smile by turning his back. “Letting you use this much magic is about as far as he can handle.”

Merlin scoffed, rolling his eyes. “He’s seen it rescue his son and grandson and he still hates it. Albion tells me that what doesn’t change and adapt is destined to die.”

“Merlin,” Arthur admonished quietly.

Even though Merlin knew that Arthur had not forgiven his father for killing his husband, Uther was still his father and Arthur, for all of his anger and hatred of his sire, did not want the man dead. Merlin sighed. In truth, he could not either. Uther was driven by fear, unable to control magic to his likening, watching as it took his beloved wife. Merlin could understand Uther, whether he wanted to or not.

Merlin sighed again, turning to press an apologizing kiss to Arthur’s cheek. Smiled against the softly bearded cheek when Arthur immediately looped his arms around his waist and held him tight. He returned the hold, content to let the knights and soldiers set up camp while they watched, savoring the feel of his husband in his arms.

“Merlin!” Gaius roused them from their little cocoon, beckoning Merlin over.

Nuzzling Arthur once more, Merlin left his husband’s arms, completely unsurprised when Uther called Arthur over. He didn’t bother listening to whatever Uther was going to say to Arthur, since Arthur would tell him later, focusing instead on Gaius.

“I need you to help me set his arm. The great fool rode all this way without telling me he had broken it.” Gaius glared mightily out at Percival from beneath his busy eyebrows.

“I didn’t know it was broken,” Percival muttered, ducking his head like a chastised Yvain when he offered up a token protest. “There wasn’t any bone sticking out anywhere.”

Merlin bit back a laugh at how the much larger warrior withered under the old man’s glare. Even though he had been gone a year, Merlin fell back into the rhythms of working with his mentor with ease. From the twinkle in Gaius’ eyes, it was obvious that the old man relished the way their hands brushed as they worked around each other. Merlin did not bother hiding his smile, beaming at his uncle and mentor. One by one, Merlin helped Gaius see to all of the injuries, checking on those who had already been doctored, doctoring those whose wounds had been minor enough to wait for relative safety. 

Yvain woke screaming as Merlin finished with Renault.

Arthur beat him by mere moments, snatching their son up into his arms, Yvain latching on to his father, squeezing Arthur tightly. Their son sobbed into Arthur’s neck, burying his face there.

“Father, I saw Papa. He was here. I saw him, I held him, but then he went away again!”

“It wasn’t a dream, Yvain, Papa is right here,” Arthur murmured softly with as much reassurance Merlin had ever heard from his husband, pulling Yvain out of his hiding place. He lifted Yvain’s chin with gentle fingers, using his own face to nuzzle and turn Yvain towards Merlin. “Look, see?”

Merlin offered his son a tremulous smile, arms held open as he stepped in close to them both. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Papa?” Yvain whispered, eyes wide and disbelieving for one short moment before he flung himself into Merlin’s arm. “Papa!”

Merlin curled around his son, tears staining Yvain’s soft blond hair, as he murmured his love into Yvain’s ear.

“I missed you, Papa,” Yvain said into his ear, arms tight around his neck, one hand buried in his hair imitating how his father liked to hold them both. 

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” Merlin savored the feel of Yvain awake and alive and whole in his arms. His heart, never quite right while he lay in the ground, was now complete as he held his son. Merlin sighed happily when Arthur’s arms came around them both, his strength and his love surrounding them both.

Merlin pulled Yvain away from his neck, staring down into his son’s little face, different now than a year ago, a little older, and little harder, but still sweet and loved. He pressed a kiss to his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, trying to impart his love in every one. “I love you, Yvain.”

“I love you too, Papa.” His son’s smile was brilliant, even through his tears, his hands gripping onto Merlin’s shirt as if he would never let go. Yvain, sweet, sweet boy that he was, looked over Merlin’s shoulder and offered his father a wide, honeyed smile. “I love you too, Father.”

Arthur grinned down at his son, eyes suspiciously wet, big hand cupping the back of Yvain’s head and kissed his son’s forehead. “And I you, son.”

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 9

As if drawn by magic, Uther’s feet moved him towards the wagon.

His words to Arthur earlier had fallen on deaf ears. He had told his son to get rid of the sorcerer, that he had served his purpose, that keeping him in Camelot would bring about their ruin.

Arthur had stared at him, eyes cold, body tense. “You will never see Yvain or me ever again.”

Uther believed those words, more than he had ever thought possible. He wanted to scoff at the mere idea, that Arthur would turn away his inheritance, an entire kingdom, for one man. But he saw his son’s eyes, perhaps for the first time in a long time, he saw the man Arthur was. Not just the boy who had followed him and worshiped him. Not even the young man who had followed his every order without question. Uther saw the man his son was in those moments, the king he would become. He had withdrawn, as gracefully as he could, silently vowing to watch the sorcerer, but to never interfere unless there was just cause.

And now, he watched as his son and grandson were reunited with husband and father. His grandson’s tears, his son’s relief, and through it all, Merlin, the sorcerer, who had saved them both.

Yvain turned his head, saw him, and screamed.

Uther jerked back, staring uncomprehendingly, as Yvain surged towards him, clawed hands reaching for his very throat.

“Yvain, no!” Merlin’s eyes glowed gold; Yvain was frozen mid-air, but the boy seemed far from perturbed by it. 

In fact, Yvain was enraged, all of it directed solely at Uther. His sweet grandson’s face was twisted with hate, with something a boy like him should never experience, and every bit of that hatred was for Uther.

“He’ll kill you, Papa! Just like before!”

“No, no, sweetheart, hush. It’s all right, it’s all right.” Merlin caught Yvain about his waist, looping long arms around Yvain to draw him back against both him and Arthur. 

The spell must have released, because Yvain pushed his body squarely in front of Merlin, shielding him, even as the boy glared angrily at Uther. “You will not hurt him again,” he commanded, surprisingly authoritative for one so young.

Uther’s very being wanted to rebuke him, wanted to ask how dare Yvain take such a tone with him, wanted to discipline the child thoroughly for his insubordination. But he saw the look on Arthur’s face, the unwavering challenge in his eyes, so like Igraine’s. Uther saw the conviction in both his son and grandson, that this sorcerer meant more to them than he did, than even Camelot.

He knew, in that instant, even moreso than when Arthur had threatened to leave, that if he did not make this one exception, control his hatred of magic and this particular user, then he would lose his entire family. Uther felt every one of his years, felt every pain and every ache since Igraine’s loss. He knew that he would not survive the loss of his son and grandson and so he nodded his silent surrender to Yvain, then Arthur. They both warily watched him in return. When he turned to wordlessly warn the warlock, he found surprisingly, compassion. He was taken aback at finding sympathy and not an ounce of anger or hatred.

He jerked when he heard the voice in his head.

 _‘I understand you did it to protect them.’_ Merlin’s eyes glowed as they stared into his soul. _‘But they are mine to protect and love now.’_

Uther retreated with dignity, not deigning to answer the voice in his mind, his feet taking him away from the covered wagon and towards the sheltering shadows of the trees.

Soon enough, Morgana and the rest of Arthur’s household were gathered inside and around the now magically uncovered wagon. They talked and laughed, shared hugs with Yvain, shared stories, food, and drink with each other. His own men had gathered around him, to do their duty to their king, but they were silent. The camaraderie amongst Arthur and his household was clearly lacking in those around him. 

Uther was an outsider to them all. 

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

Merlin sighed in relief as he saw the immaculate state of Arthur’s rooms. He had worried that Arthur would refuse to let other servants see to his care in a fit of anger and depression. “Morris has taken care of you, good.”

Arthur rolled his eyes even as he caught Merlin in his arms, hands roaming his body as if still disbelieving that he was here and whole. “He’s terrified; won’t come in here unless Gwen or a small army of servants is with him.”

“I wonder why,” Merlin asked facetiously, poking him in the chest, trying to hide the grin.

Arthur took offense, evil fingers pressing into his ticklish spots. Merlin retaliated and soon they were rolling around on the bed, laughing, kissing, breathless and happy.

Merlin felt Yvain enter their rooms, his senses in tune with his family more than ever. He turned in Arthur’s arms to see their son smiling mistily from the doorway between their chambers. He immediately held out his arms, Yvain ran full tilt into them, smelling of herbs and sweet soap from his bath. Merlin cuddled his son, still starved for the feel of his child in his arms, the swelling of affection reaching new heights when Arthur added his own arms into their embrace.

From the depths of their cuddle, Yvain twisted until he was facing both of them, expression pleading and worried. “Papa, can we go look for Cadfael tomorrow?”

Merlin smiled down at him, smoothing his hair. “Of course, sweetheart.”

“Good,” Yvain said decisively, nodding just as vigorously. “I have worried about him. We’ve been smuggling food to him, but I haven’t seen him in so long.”

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Arthur reassured him; his blunt, calloused fingertips tracing their son’s cheek. “After all, your papa created him with magic.”

Merlin nodded. “He’s fine, sweet, I would have sensed if he had been injured or harmed.”

Yvain gifted him with a relieved, worshipping smile. “Thank you, papa.”

Merlin kissed his cheek, smiling even wider as Yvain reciprocated, not forgetting about his father.

“May I stay with you tonight?” Yvain asked through an adorable yawn.

Merlin, having missed these tender moments when Yvain did something as simple as yawning adorably or when Arthur smiled at him in the sunlight, opened his mouth to say yes, but Arthur beat him to it.

“Until you fall asleep, then I’ll carry you to your bed, all right, son?”

“But, Arthur --”

Arthur bent upon him a look, all heat and love and lust. Merlin immediately shut his mouth, then ruefully shook his head, looking forward to their reunion that night, but not at the expense of their son. He glared at Arthur, only to be given a beseeching, quelling glare in return. How the hell Arthur managed to convey those contrary expressions simultaneously and yet still look regal and loved, Merlin had no idea.

Yvain was eying them, something like suspicion and understanding tinting his expression. It was endearing as hell for he was every bit as expressive as his father. “All right, father,” he grudgingly agreed.

Arthur beamed down at their son; smug as the prat of a prince who threw daggers at poor Morris, he once was. Arthur blew kisses against Yvain’s neck, making their son laugh.

“Don’t rile him up before bed, Arthur.” Merlin raised a single eyebrow. “Otherwise he’ll never get to sleep.”

Arthur immediately sobered, looking down at Yvain intently. “Your papa is right, it is bed time.”

Yvain gave his father a knowing look. “You just want private time with Papa.” 

Merlin and Arthur both gapped at the sly innuendo in their seven year old son’s voice.

“Where,” Merlin cleared his throat. “Yvain, where did you learn that phrase?”

“And how to say it like that?” Arthur demanded as he turned pink, with embarrassment or something else, Merlin did not know. 

Yvain, once again their sweet innocent son, stared up at them with guileless eyes. “Sir Gwaine.”

“And did Sir Gwaine explain to you what that meant?” Arthur was obviously trying to keep his voice soft and soothing and blameless, but his face was comically red.

Yvain twisted his little face into confused lines, staring off into the distance as if trying to remember the exact words. “When I asked him what it meant, Sir Gwaine said you were going to shag Papa stupid, but when I asked him what ‘shag’ meant, Sir Percival clamped a hand over Sir Gwaine’s mouth and wouldn’t let him tell me!” Yvain was obviously quite indignant, then and now, at not getting an explanation.

Merlin covered his face with both hands, trying to stop the laughter even as Arthur fumed in incoherent sounds that were obviously bitten-off obscenities. 

“I am going to kill him,” Arthur said, very slowly, very precisely. 

Merlin peaked through his fingers at his husband, biting his lip because Arthur’s face! A hilarious combination of exasperation, indignation, and glowering revenge. Once he was pretty sure he could emerge without howling with laughter, Merlin pressed at kiss to his husband’s cheek, accepting Arthur’s glare because he was smiling and turned to their son. “Bedtime, sweetheart.”

“But aren’t you going to tell me what ‘shag’ means?” Yvain protested.

“Not until you’re older,” Merlin answered, fighting to keep his lips still since Arthur was still glaring at him. He feared for Gwaine’s continued health once Arthur turned his mind towards the knight’s demise, but he was sure Gwaine would find some way of saving himself, he always did.

Yvain nodded, uncharacteristically accepting the answer so he must be tired, and yawned again, holding out his arms. Merlin hugged him then passed him to Arthur who tugged off his boots before gently tossing Yvain to the head of the bed.

Yvain laughed softly, hands held out to them both.

Merlin raised a chastising eyebrow at his husband for actions that could rile Yvain up again, but was mollified by Yvain’s easy yawns and happy squirming to get under the covers. They curled up together, warmth spreading as Yvain became heavy with sleep. When Arthur was sure their son would remain so, he gently lifted Yvain into his arms. Merlin followed his husband into Yvain’s room, turning down the sheets and casting an easy spell that warmed the bed. Another spell recreated the poppet Uther had destroyed in the bonfire. Yvain latched on immediately, inhaling the soothing fumes from the herbal filling.

One last look over his shoulder at their son as Arthur dragged him out of the boy’s room by their interlaced fingers, Merlin cast one more spell, to ensure that he or Arthur would wake if Yvain had a nightmare, then he turned his attention in its entirety on his husband. It had been a year since they were together, but nervousness never entered his mind. He was full of anticipation, desperate want, and the need to alleviate the loneliness Arthur had carried in his heart all this time.

Their lovemaking that night was as fierce as it was tender. Trailing fingertips in sensitive places turned into gripping hands that were afraid to let go. Soft kisses and long licks segued into deep and drugging and whispered promises of never letting go. Arthur slid into his body, beautiful face haunted by the thought of never having this again. Merlin held him close, held him tight, refusing to let go, wrapping them both in his powers, breathing vows of forever and love into Arthur’s ear.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

When Uther requested for Gaius to join him for dinner that night, it was partly from sheer loneliness. It had been months since he shared a meal with someone other than a noble hoping to gain something by currying favor with the king. Tonight, after the long journey, after watching how happy Arthur and Yvain were to have Merlin back, after seeing – perhaps for the first time – how distant he was from his own family, Uther needed the company of someone he could call a friend. Gaius, for all of his coldness this past year, was still that. At least in Uther’s eyes.

It was awkward at first, much like the dinners with his family had been before complete silence had become the norm, but Uther had no idea how to breach the cold quietness.

“He won’t hurt them,” Gaius said, so low and soft that Uther thought he had imagined his voice at first. “Merlin would never hurt Arthur or Yvain, he loves them.”

Uther stared into the distance, carefully choosing his words, not wanting to cause a stop in this fledging conversation. “And he has no other . . . ambitions?”

Gaius scoffed, serving himself another helping of roasted boar. “The boy was happy enough just being my apprentice. He didn’t even know who Arthur was until you gave him to Arthur as a manservant.” He snorted, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Merlin actually thought he was being punished those first few weeks with Arthur.”

Uther stared, this time at Gaius, in disbelief. “Manservant to the prince of Camelot was a punishment?”

“Yes, your majesty,” Gaius chuckled and nodded, sipping his wine. He sobered as a contemplative calm descended. “He came here to learn to control his magic and since then he has done nothing but protect the princes and Camelot.”

Uther wanted to say that Merlin was merely protecting his investment; after all, being the power behind the throne could be more to his taste. But he thought of what he had seen these last few days. The way Merlin lead the knights out of Camelot, the same way he was in front of them when they lay siege to Cenred’s men, protecting the knights from Morgause’s sorcerers, but letting the knights and soldiers deal with their counterparts. And how after the fighting was done, after Arthur and Yvain were seen to, Merlin had healed anyone and everyone who had the courage to ask. As powerful as he was, Merlin had carefully listened as Gaius imparted wisdom and knowledge regarding the healing arts, refraining from using his magic unless it was a life-threatening wound.

“Merlin.” Uther paused, once again trying to find the words that would adequately describe the most powerful sorcerer he had ever seen. “If he wanted to, he could kill me and make everyone believe differently, couldn’t he?”

“Yes, your majesty, he could,” Gaius answered with stark honesty, face solemn but also hard with lingering anger. “He could wipe the very memory of you out of this land and no one would be the wiser.”

“And yet he has not.” Uther could not understand why the boy had not killed him, for sure that would solve all of Merlin’s problems, before and after his death and resurrection.

“And yet he has not,” Gaius confirmed.

“Because of Arthur and Yvain.” This was something he could understand, how love could drive one’s actions, whether it be in revenge or in protection.

Gaius surprised him by shaking his head. “No, sire, because Merlin is a light in the darkness.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

When Uther declared a special dispensation for Merlin, and Merlin alone, that night during the feast celebrating Arthur and Yvain’s return, complete, shocked silence met his decree. 

All of Camelot had talked of nothing but the sorcerer’s return. Speculations about how he returned, why he had returned, if he was to stay, had run rampant nearly the entire time they had been away, growing more and more until they had returned with Arthur and Yvain. It did not help matters when Arthur and his entire household accompanied Merlin and Yvain in their quest to find the boy’s monstrously large pet. Uther’s advisors had descended upon en masse, demanding answers that he did not have. He had refused to talk to them until he worked out at least the beginning of a solution.

Thankfully, Gaius had helped. 

His old friend had brought him books, ones that he had banned when the Purge began. Uther had stared at them in conflict: glad he would have these resources to help him plan for the future, angry that Gaius had treacherously kept these tomes. He had pushed the anger and fear aside when he heard Yvain’s carefree laughter ring out through the halls of the castle for the first time in too long.

He and Gaius had worked steadily throughout the day, formulating plans, dismissing them, only to go back for useful bits and pieces until they cobble together laws that appeased Uther’s hatred of magic with the love he had for his family. It had felt good working with his old friend again, rather than against him. 

And now, seeing the surprised but thankful faces of his son and grandson, the approval on his daughter’s face, and the general happiness that seemed to radiate through the hall, he could feel something like peace settle inside. 

 

The End


End file.
